


Taking Risks

by Allerleirauh



Series: The Taking Series [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Interspecies, M/M, Original Character(s), Slash, Space Opera, Torture, Violence, Xenophilia, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allerleirauh/pseuds/Allerleirauh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bajor has fallen. The combined forces of the Dominion and the Federation plan their next deadly move against Cardassia, and the Vulcans are contemplating secession from the Federation. Meanwhile a small group of rebels prepares to strike back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by spikesgirl58

_  
_

_The road to hell is paved with good intentions..._

 

Keshara District, Bajor

Luther Sloan was a patient man. He prided himself on the knowledge that he could be more patient than the proverbial Grim Reaper himself - he who could and would wait for everyone, patient and stoic - and then take life with one precise and silent sweep of his scythe. A pretentious comparison? Maybe, but why should he waste his time with mere mediocrity. He was a man of brilliance, used to aim for the top and he would never accept anything but the best.

Naturally Sloan had a real penchant for black. It was elegant, it lent an air of mystery and it didn't show the occasional blood-stain that was an unavoidable risk in his profession. Sloan loved black, preferably black leather. It produced those soft creaking sounds only tanned skin would, and it hugged his body so sensually, the touch was almost erotic. It gave his movements such a unique quality that made him feel alert and casual at the same time.

Sloan didn't have a scythe of course. That would be just too impractical and eccentric, even for a genius like him. If necessary he used a small but razor-sharp knife that was usually hidden in his sleeve. More often he preferred to keep his own hands clean by just giving the order - after all that's what subordinates were there for.

Right now the sinking sun of an early summer evening warmed his back. That was another aspect of leather he held precious, the way it warmed him like only a true second skin could. He was standing in front of a group of Bajorans. "Fine, I'll repeat my question," he said, smiling amiably, "I expect you to give me the names of those responsible for this latest attempt of sabotage - now, please." The group eyed him wearily. There were five adults, men and women, two adolescent girls and two young children, a boy and a girl. They had been forced out of their houses that were situated near the small village's marketplace.

Now they stood in the centre of that place, looking forlorn and frightened. Although all around them the streets and houses seemed completely lifeless, he was sure that their group was closely watched. He counted on it in fact. Briefly he wondered if any of these captives in front of him were related. He didn't know, but in the end the information wasn't crucial. If necessary he would order his Jem'Hadar to start with one of the children and regardless of any family ties he was sure that would break the resistance of the adults very fast. _It's the biological imperative to protect the helpless,_ he thought. _Even the most intelligent, the most rational of them aren't able to keep their priorities straight when children are involved_.

He let his gaze slowly sweep over the whole group, aiming to make eye-contact with as many of them as possible. He saw a lot of averted eyes. No one spoke. He raised his gaze and looked at the horizon. The mountains that marked the border of Keshara district were still hidden from view, the heavy smoke of a couple of burning villages created a curtain of darkness that crept over the mountain-flanks. It had been a shame to burn so many, but they were resistance nests, and like weeds they had to be taken out to prevent them from spreading.

 _Time's up,_ he thought _._ He made the smallest hand-gesture, but it was enough to let his First spring into action immediately. The Jem'Hadar stepped forward, grabbing the youngest girl. She cried out, a high pitched wail, a voice raised in abject terror, then her voice turned into a whimper as the Jem'Hadar dropped her to the ground.

For a split-second there was complete silence, then one of the adults, a young man cried out in anguish. He stumbled forward, his hands making helpless grasping gestures towards the sprawled body of the girl that now lay on the ground like a hapless bundle. Another gesture by Sloan, and the Jem'Hadar grabbed the man and pushed him further forward until he stood directly in front of Sloan, singled out now. He was of slight build, with a haggard look and shaggy hair. But it were his eyes, far too large for his lean face and filled with a hunger so intense it was startling, that captured one's attention immediately.

"Well?" Sloan asked calmly. The Bajoran fidgeted nervously, his head bobbing left and right. Had he seemed on the brink of a violent outburst before, now there was nothing left of that, having been replaced by fear once again.

"I know that the sabotage was committed by people from this village, but I'm not interested in them. I want your contact in the resistance network." The Bajoran's head jerked up, but before the man could say anything, Sloan added, "and don't even try to tell me there isn't anything like a resistance network. Its existence is a fact, and I don't think you want to endanger your children even further, do you?"

They looked at one another and there was a whole series of emotions warring on the man's face: fear and hate and resignation the most prominent. Haltingly the Bajoran said, "She calls herself Jabara, though that's most likely a code name. I never met her in person only via transmission and always voice only."

Sloan nodded. That wasn't surprising. "Your next objective?" he asked. The Bajoran shook his head, "There isn't one," he said. He looked up when Sloan made a tsking noise. Sloan let his gaze demonstratively wander to the young boy in the group behind. "Think again," he prompted.

"Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you playing the Dominion's lackey?" Instead of answering the Bajoran now asked. Sloan sighed. He really hadn't time for this discussion, knowing all the angry accusations and arguments that would follow. He considered the man in front of him. Oh, why not? It might be worth a try. Maybe, just maybe he'd be able to turn this simpleton far enough around so he'd be of further use to him.

"Come with me," he said to the Bajoran and to his First he said, gesturing at the rest of the group, "let them go for now."

***

The _Dagger_

"What do you mean, I'm probably not allowed to be there?" Bashir's voice sounded petulant even to his own ears and he cringed inwardly. He should have sounded indignant. He should have aimed for a mixture of honest disappointment and slight anger. Instead he had sounded like a whining child that wasn't allowed to get to the sweets tin.

Not surprisingly Kira's answering look held a strong note of reproach. "Doctor, we talked about this. As charming as your presumptions about your status here might occasionally be, they are wrong. You are tolerated on the _Dagger_ , nothing more." She grimaced, putting her fork down, staring at the contents of the plate in front of her.

"Oh believe me I have no false expectations of the esteem the Romulans hold me in. But I had thought that regardless of the mistrust _they_ place in me, your opinion might be slightly better and not based on the same mixture of xenophobia and paranoia," Bashir grated out.

Kira's look suddenly turned thunderous. She pointed her fork at him, her grip tight, showing white knuckles, "Don't confuse me with Garak, Human, I'm not so easily charmed," she practically spat at him. "And insults are definitely _not_ the best way to win me over!"

It wasn't the first time that he had been called 'Human' or 'the Human' in a decidedly hostile manner, but until now it had always been one of the Romulans. To hear it now from Kira really annoyed him and it hurt. He was searching for a fittingly cutting reply when Garak's voice beat him to it.

"I don't think there's much of a chance of _that_ Kira, those nose-ridges are a dead give-away." Garak's voice was mild. He slid on the last free chair at their table in the _Dagger's_ mess hall.

Bashir looked at the Cardassian wearily. Since their arrival on the Romulan Interceptor almost two weeks ago he and Garak hadn't spoken more than a few words. In fact Garak had treated him more or less like an outcast. Oh, he had seen him, quite a lot of him actually. The _Dagger's_ security chief Soren Trenn, the very same Romulan that had almost refused to let them come aboard the _Dagger_ in the first place, had interrogated Bashir for five solid days. Garak had been there all the time, a shadow in the half dark, silent and with a face devoid of any discernible expression.

Trenn had been almost brutal in his questioning, going at it for hours on end. Bashir was sure that from the second day on his food had been drugged - things got quite hazy for a while and he had felt so nauseous - and Garak had sat there not even raising a finger to help him.

Until now Bashir hadn't had a chance to challenge the Cardassian for that underhanded behaviour. While he had been interrogated he had spent the rest of the days once again in a holding cell, and after his release he hadn't been too eager to see the Cardassian. Also he had noticed with some satisfaction that Garak seemed to avoid him. Quite possibly the result of a guilty conscience, Bashir had assumed.

Therefore he was still in a really foul mood when it came to Garak, much more foul indeed than his momentary anger at Kira. He said to Garak, "No I don't think there's a chance to confuse the two of you. Kira at least has the courtesy to _talk_ to me." His voice had risen as he spoke, creating a certain hush at the tables adjacent to theirs. He glowered at Garak, leaning backwards in his chair.

Garak gave him a long considering look, then said in the same mild voice he had used before, "You're a fool, Doctor. Right now, I don't have time to deal with an emotional fit by you. You're expected to meet us in the _Dagger's_ conference room in two hours. Until then, I want you to go to your quarters and cool down."

And how Bashir hated _that_ condescending voice with a passion. "I don't think," he started to reply, his tone as rebellious as his expression, his voice rising, when Garak interrupted him by saying, "Do as you're told, Doctor. I really don't want to call on the Romulans to deal with you. But make no mistake, I will if you force me. I'm sure Trenn would be most willing to escort you to your quarters."

That was really a low blow. Abruptly Bashir got up from the table, and he left them without a word. He was fuming, not paying any attention to the corridors of the _Dagger_ as he stormed through them on his way to his quarters. _How dares he? Treating me like this, threatening me. It's demeaning. I'm so going to pay him back and I'll find a way. What a bastard._ Bashir's thoughts were again and again circling around the same theme. He entered his quarters - more a closet really - and flung himself on his narrow bunk.

 _How am I expected to think straight when I'm on a ship where everyone hates me or is at least deeply suspicious of me - if even those who I believed had started to trust me, stab me in the back?_ Suddenly a realization struck him. Garak had told him to come to the strategy meeting - the same meeting he so desperately wanted to attend, the same meeting Kira had told him he might not be allowed to join. His internal ranting came to a screeching halt. _Why? Why would they want him there? What kind of sick game could it be that they were playing with him? Had Kira known that he was allowed to attend the meeting when she told him the opposite? What was going on here?_

All of the sudden he felt very tired. He was still suffering from the sleep deficit he had accumulated during the days Trenn had interrogated him. Leaving all the plotting and second-guessing behind, he decided that a nap would be the best thing he could do now. He certainly would need his wits together in that upcoming meeting.

***

It was soft chuckling that woke him some time later. Blinking slowly, he peered in the direction of the sound and saw Garak leaning against the closed door of his small quarters.

"I'm sure I locked the door behind me," Bashir said.

"I'm sure you did," Garak agreed. He moved over to the lonely chair that together with a tiny table made up half of the available furnishings of the room. He sat down and said with a smile, "You truly have the soul of a nip'ka."

Bashir sat up, but didn't reply to the strange opening. He knew that Garak was waiting for a question from him, but regardless how much the casually made comparison piqued Bashir's curiosity, he was adamant not to give Garak the slightest satisfaction.

Silently he stared at the Cardassian until Garak shrugged, sighed and continued, "Nip'kas are predators, graceful creatures really, although that's not the similarity I'm getting at. They have this very peculiar habit when they are stressed. They flee and return to their den to sleep it off." He chuckled again, obviously amused by his own story. "I bet Kira a bottle of the finest Bajoran spring wine that I would find you asleep. She said there was no chance you would be, not after me being so 'mean' to you," his voice and expression changed to mocking, mimicking the Bajoran's tone of voice, giving a solid parody of the major.

Bashir huffed. "I expect you to share that bottle with me - whatever spring wine is - for winning you that bet. That is unless you feel more comfortable in sharing it with your new best friend, security-chief Trenn of course." He looked at Garak with raised eyebrows, his expression equally mocking as Garak's earlier performance had been.

"Oh come now Doctor, don't prove me right in calling you a fool," Garak said, his tone of voice changing from light conversational to far more serious now. His face held a look of slight disappointment. It made Bashir wonder what Garak was expecting of him. "What do you think would have happened if I'll intervened with Trenn's interrogation?" Garak asked. He paused briefly, then before Bashir could say anything, he continued, "No, don't answer that. We'll need to get to the conference room. Just one reminder: there is almost no place on this ship where we aren't watched and listened to. These quarters are safe, as are mine or Kira's, I check them regularly. Everywhere else it would be wise to always expect an audience, don't ever forget that." He stood up again. "I'll wait outside," he added and left Bashir alone.

***

When they entered the _Dagger's_ small conference room Captain Vexel, Security Chief Trenn and Kira were already present. Rounding the table Bashir found himself steered to a free chair next to Kira. Garak seemed to have a very precise idea how they should be seated. Obviously it involved Bashir ending up with Kira on his left and Garak on his right. He sat down, wondering about the reasons behind it. It didn't take him more than to look up to find at least one - when he glanced across the round conference table he was startled to see Trenn giving him a baleful glare. He paused, looked again, this time at both of the Romulans.

As they sat there, side by side, they were an impressive and somewhat intimidating sight - both very tall, Trenn still with the typical helmet-like black hair, Vexel's already grizzled and leaning towards white. _They are like a pair of proud and dangerous birds of prey, casually perched now while not on the hunt, but nonetheless alert should any threat arise._ The imagery came to him out of nowhere. His instinctive reaction was to duck his head. He didn't, but the urge was strong. Their haughty faces were a play of contrast as Trenn's showed his anger as clearly now as the captain's displayed his calm.

Trenn turned to his captain saying, "Just to be absolutely clear, I protest the presence of this Human."

Bashir tried not to react outwardly, but he saw Kira rolling her eyes, making no attempt to hide her exasperated reaction while she looked at Bashir and Garak.

"Yes, Trenn, and I heard you the first time. My decision stands however. Bashir will attend our meeting. This discussion is closed," the captain replied evenly, giving the other Romulan a hard look.

Trenn snorted but didn't speak up, and the captain continued, "Let's see where we stand. In the past couple of days it has been our priority to gather information. All of us have different resources to tap into, and pooling what we learned should enable us to get as complete a picture as we can. The questions are: What's happening around us? What are our governments doing? What do we know about the next steps the Federation and the Dominion are about to take?"

He turned to Kira.

"Nerys?"

Kira nodded and said, "It took me a while to get to my contacts on Bajor. For obvious reasons this new occupation has disrupted many of the established communication channels. There have been announcements made that it will be the Federation that is going to enforce the 'new order' as they call it. There are a lot of voices raised in accusation against the Federation now. Those voices talk of the federation as a power that is using the Dominion as a way of pushing their own expansionistic intentions. It's their chance to silence every existing opposition, to enforce peace on the Alpha Quadrant by forcing everyone into their fold."

 _But that's not how the Federation works_ , Bashir thought. He was startled to hear such a jaded view and more than a little angered. He thought about interrupting, to try to give a more objective view, but hesitated. He didn't want to risk his right to be here by speaking up for the 'enemy' at such an early time in their meeting.

His indecisiveness must have been obvious at least to one, because there was a slight tap on his right wrist. He cast a sidelong glance at Garak. The Cardassian gave him a warning look, accompanied by a slow shake of his head. He was cautioning Bashir to keep quiet, and for the time being Bashir decided to heed the wordless counsel.

"Our resistance network has been revived almost instantly following the fall of Bajor. We will teach both the Federation and the Dominion the same lesson we taught the Cardassians before. We never give in however hard you push us," Kira continued. She raised her chin and threw a challenging look around the table.

Now Bashir really couldn't help it. He leaned towards Garak and whispered, "So, your people aren't any better than mine, hmm?" Another warning look - then Garak ignored him. Instead he turned to Kira. With a small bow of his head he said, "And we all know how effective the Bajoran resistance can be."

She looked mollified if slightly surprised as if she had expected an argument from him and returned his gesture. "I expect my contacts to organize a constant flow of information in the near future," she went on. "It shouldn't be too difficult to establish enough collaborators to work for the Federation while siphoning them for intel. For now I have only one reliable piece of information and that's no big news. The Dominion and Federation will come after Cardassia next."

Garak picked up there and said, "And Cardassia is preparing for that event. For now it even seems as if the Alliance might still hold for a while, long enough at least to lend us all the support we need for the preparations."

"And what exactly do you want to insinuate by _that_?" Trenn interrupted in a sharp voice.

"Insinuating, Trenn? And why would I do something like that? Considering that the Romulans are such steadfast and reliable allies."

"And have _I_ mentioned lately, how tired I am of your cheap sarcasm?" Trenn shot back.

For a second a hostile silence reigned.

Now Bashir had enough. Throwing caution to the wind and mustering all the arrogance he could, he said, "You know, you're making it really easy for the Dominion _and_ the Federation. If your behaviour is symptomatic of the way the Alliance works, things will fall apart pretty soon." The comment earned him glowering looks from both men, but he had expected that and returned them openly and without backing down. He didn't care that he was assuming the role of their common enemy now, becoming the voice of the 'oh, so evil Federation'.

The captain who had remained silent so far, now spoke up. Addressing Bashir directly he said, "A very good point - the Alliance always has been an uneasy coalition. The Romulans and Cardassians have vied for dominance practically from day one, and the Klingons with their unique brand of half brained stupidity and occasionally intelligent cunning have been a true wild card.

"The Bajorans have been the only calming influence in the Alliance. They've been the voice of reason on more than one occasion, and that voice will be sorely missed now. Insofar Garak's remark wasn't completely unjustified, but not the most constructive in this setting either," and here he gave the Cardassian a sharp look.

Garak only shrugged his shoulders and answered, utterly unapologetic, "I see no use in shying away from the truth, but have it your way. As I said, Cardassia is preparing for the event. I've managed to talk to Tain. He told me that because of the increasing danger, our government has intensified its negotiations with the Breen. It's unlikely that they will join the Alliance, but even winning them as a mercenary force might be worth the price. Unfortunately the price they demand - a handful of Cardassian colonies and a sizeable portion of our territories - is quite high. Nonetheless there are strong voices on Cardassia demanding that we agree to these terms." He paused for a moment and Trenn seemed to have waited for that.

"And why don't you tell us about those _other_ negotiations?" Trenn asked, his voice a little too loud and quite accusatory. For Bashir it brought back uncomfortable memories of those interrogation sessions he had to endure not too long ago. Trenn seemed to be able to slip into the inquisitor's role  with practised ease, and his sole and lonely focus was Garak right now.

And the object of his focus just sat there, looked back and remained silent.

Trenn continued, "You know which negotiations I mean. There's a rumour that right after the battle for Bajor Cardassia tried to initiate clandestine peace negotiations with the Dominion!"

Again the room fell into silence.

"It isn't a rumour," Garak finally answered. "Those negotiations were tried. They failed practically before they even had begun. It seems the Dominion didn't take it lightly that we collapsed the first wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant while a whole fleet of their ships was on its way through it."

"So you admit it." Trenn's voice was ice-cold.

"Great Gul, Trenn. What's there to admit?" Garak snapped back. He was losing his calm veneer now, showing his anger openly.

"Especially bearing in mind that our government is seriously considering writing the Cardassians and the whole Alliance off as a lost cause," the captain threw in. "They've even tried to convince the Klingons to follow that example, but not surprisingly the Klingons believe such a strategy would go against that simplistic 'warrior's code' of theirs. Still, our Senate is weighing the option to revert back to our isolationist policy of a century ago, to draw back inside our borders in the hopes that the Dominion and the Federation will accept it as a status quo just like they did before. Interesting, isn't it?"

Trenn visibly deflated at hearing that. "What?" he asked in a weak voice. "That will never work." His expression turned almost pleading as he looked over at the _Dagger's_ captain.

Vexel chuckled bitterly. He let his gaze wander around the table and said, "Let's sum it up: the Bajorans are out of the picture and the Romulan and Cardassian governments are contemplating how to best save their sorry hides. Any reliable news from the Klingons?"

His question was answered by a round of headshakes.

"Whatever. Then let's move on for now." Before he could continue though, the doors to the conference room slid open, and a woman rushed into the room. Vexel smiled. "Ah, Pavale. I was wondering when you would grace us with your presence."

She gave him a sour look. She sat down beside him and huffed. "If this crew and captain would show only the slightest bit of consideration for the fact that their ship isn't indestructible, I might be able to keep my meeting appointments," she said by way of an explanation.

 _Definitely an engineer_ , Bashir thought amused. He studied her with interest. She was an unassuming woman, somewhere in her mid-thirties, and so average her appearance alone wouldn't have turned a single head. She had a slightly dishevelled look that fitted the rest of her perfectly, but what had caught his attention was her voice. Clear and melodious as a bell it was a pleasure to the ear, like the taste of dark chocolate slowly melting on the tongue. It was entrancing and it had gotten her not only his, but everyone's complete attention instantly. _Tinkerbell_ , the name popped quite unbidden in his head, and he squashed it hastily. _Comparing a Romulan to a fairy? Definitely_ not _a good idea, Julian._

The captain introduced her, saying, "This is Narya Pavale. She's my chief engineer and she's joining us from now on." There was a round of greetings around the table, then Vexel picked up where he had stopped before Pavale's entrance. "As I was saying: let's move on to our plans. Since our two newest additions don't know any details," he gave Garak a questioning look, who threw a sidelong glance at Bashir, then slightly shook his head, "let's do this from the beginning." Again he looked at Garak.

Garak did a little show of collecting himself before he addressed Bashir and Pavale directly, "The Alliance will lose this war. There's no chance that we will stand our ground, we simply don't have the resources. With the Federation as an ally the Dominion has gained a strong foothold in our quadrant. Even a Federation that is still weakened by their latest conflict with the Borg contributes considerably to their superior forces. If we can't beat them in open conflict, the logical alternative is to find a covert way, to look for weak spots to exploit. Every enemy - regardless of its strength - has them.

"One obvious weak spot is the wormhole, of course. To our deepest regret we have learned the hard way that destroying it would only be a temporary solution. We tried it with the first one, and it lead to our present situation. We have no idea how the Dominion accomplished it, but establishing another one that now opens within spitting distance to Earth was the worst thing that could have happened."

Bashir nodded emphatically and said, "It threw Earth and consequently the Federation into chaos. I believe that at least part of their reaction was born out of sheer panic. Discovering such a powerful potential opponent on your own doorstep would make anyone extremely nervous."

With a slight nod Garak picked up his account again, "So - since destroying the second wormhole isn't a viable solution - we have decided to solve this dilemma by coming at it from the top. We're going to destroy the planet of the Founders."

The conference room fell into  a heavy silence after his last sentence. The sheer enormity of Garak's proposal caused everyone to pause. Bashir was shocked, both by the unlikeliness for any such plan to succeed, and at the same time his conscience was nagging him that in essence they were planning genocide. From the looks on the others faces though, he seemed to be the only one who felt that to be a problem. He felt the urge to speak up, but he remained silent. Especially voicing a protest would be unwise now - better to bide his time and wait for Garak to continue or anyone else to comment.

At last it was Pavale who said "As long as it's nothing more difficult, really, why worry?" Her words were dripping with sarcasm - no hint of dark chocolate there, but something tangy and biting. _Like biting into a raw onion_ , Bashir thought.

Garak just gave her an icy glare otherwise ignoring her comment and continued, "What we need right now is more intel about what's happening around us, be it the Federation, the Dominion, or our own Alliance. Reliable intel will guide our next steps.

"And what will those be? Bashir asked.

Folding his hands on the table in front of him, Garak leaned back in his seat. Then he answered and it sounded like he was going through an invisible check-list, ticking off each item with a small nod of his head. "We need a ship to get to the Gamma Quadrant, we need access to the wormhole, we need a way to get through, we have to learn where the planet of the Founders is exactly and lastly we need a means to destroy it or its population." He cast a look around then focused on Vexel and said with a tight smile, "So Captain, shall we start planning?"

***

Kira had hoped it would be a matter of days, but in the end it took them almost two weeks before they felt at least halfway certain that they'd found a feasible plan of action. A lot of it still sounded ludicrous or as Pavale one day had put it, "It's complete madness of course, but at least it is _our_ madness, and I've given up hope getting out of this alive long ago." An uncomfortable silence had fallen afterwards while everyone seemed to consider his or her probable personal fate, then they had pushed the remark aside and had gone on. Painstakingly they discussed and analysed every detail of their plan again and again, discussing every step, debating every premise and every conclusion. It was tedious and for Kira it was a small wonder that no blood was spilled in the process.

Most of the time it seemed to her like everyone was at odds with everyone else. On two occasions only hers and Bashir's quick reactions had prevented Garak and Trenn from getting into a serious fight. It had soon become clear to everyone that there was some history between these two men, though both refused to comment on it. The result was a mixture of rivalry and animosity between them that every so often spilled over to the rest of their group and made working together problematic to say the least.

Pavale hadn't proven to be a calming influence either - more often than not she liked to assume the role of casual observer and amused herself with lobbing ironic comments at the others.

 _We're such a rag-tag team, it's going to be a wonder if we accomplish anything_ , Kira thought grimly. She hoped that once they were able to act, to finally _do_ something, their frustration and aggression would find a better outlet than to squabble and quarrel amongst themselves. At least that was what Vexel was telling her.

***

It was such a relief when they were finally able to move from planning and preparing to taking concrete action. They sent Trenn and Pavale off, their objective being to retrieve a Starfleet shuttle. They had received intel about one that might just be salvageable enough for their purposes.

That meant that Garak, Bashir and herself were left behind on the _Dagger,_ and Kira had decided to make an effort to find some common ground with these two. If at least the three of them could reach an understanding, a lot would be gained.

They were in Garak's quarters. Kira was sitting on the only available chair - _the classical Romulan standard_ , she thought, _why waste time on creature comforts when you can go for the bare essentials_ \- while Garak leaned against a wall. Together they were waiting for Bashir who had vanished into the tiny refreshing-unit to change.

Kira let her gaze idly wander around the room. It was as sparse as her own. The only difference was the medkit Bashir had brought aboard. She had started to play with its fastenings while they were waiting for Bashir to re-emerge.

When the Human returned, clad now in the red uniform of a commanding officer of Starfleet, he said, "You know, I'm a doctor, not a starship captain." Clearly he was in one of his whining moods. Kira had heard that tone of voice once too often in the last days and it always brought out the worst in her. Forgetting her resolve to aim for a smoother way to deal with the two she said, "Bashir, you _wanted_ to be in, you _wanted_ to contribute - now you _are_ , so stop complaining!"

Bashir looked crestfallen for a moment, then he nodded. "You're right," he said, and turning to Garak he continued, "I don't think the replicator got my size quite right. The sleeves are a tad too long and the trousers a bit too short."

Without thinking Kira replied, "That's because it isn't replicated of course," only to see Bashir's face slowly whiten as he realized from which other source the uniform most probably came. _Smooth, Nerys, and now he's giving you that 'kicked-puppy-look' again._

Garak gave her a warning glance, then said, "Why don't you leave this fitting and the rehearsal to me, Kira? There's really no need for both of us to be present, don't you agree?"

Putting the now slightly lighter medkit aside she got up. "Fine. I'm going to get something to eat." She had almost reached the door when Garak stepped into her path, blocking her exit and stretching out his open palm.

"Hand it back!"

Just for a second she considered to feign innocence, but no, that wouldn't take her anywhere. She grumbled and dropped the tribble into Garak's hand. "I wish Vexel would confiscate the poor thing", she said and swept past him.

Once outside Garak's quarters she turned towards the mess hall. One day she would find a way to get that furry ball out of Garak's grasp, she promised herself. His insistence that it might be useful in some insidious plan he just hadn't developed was really childish. She could understand his grudge against that Klingon that had almost beheaded him, but one could take one's plans of revenge too far, she thought. Now however was obviously not the right time, and at a discreet growl from her stomach she decided that other things were definitely more important for now.

She tapped her combadge. "Kira to Vexel. I'm looking for a lunch companion. Are you free?"

"Freedom is just an illusion, but I'm available if that's what you ask." the captain's voice replied warmly. "How about I'll meet you in half an hour in the mess hall?"

Kira smiled and answered, "Perfect, I'll be there." She picked up her pace through the _Dagger's_ corridors towards the mess hall.

When she arrived she grabbed some food from the counter and sat down at their usual table - the _Dagger's_ crew had allocated one slightly to the side of the mess hall to their trio of outsiders - and waited for the captain to show up. Her thoughts automatically drifted to her lunch companion. She had known Rhys Vexel for more than ten years now, and they shared a lot of history.

***

_The cave-system was humid and dark. She was waiting alone, only one other member of her resistance cell stood guard at the cave's entrance. A voice at her back made her whirl. Two Romulans stood under one of the large arches that intersected the cave. With their disruptors raised, looks of suspicion and mistrust etched into their faces, the sight made the hairs on her neck stand up. Her heart skipped a beat and she had to suppress the urge to simply turn and flee._

_"I was expecting the leader of a Bajoran resistance cell. Who are you, child?" the older one of the two said. The urge to flee left her in an instant, drowned by immediate indignation. She replied, "Let's get a couple of things straight: I_ am _the leader of the resistance cell,_ you're _going to lower your weapons right now and lastly if you_ ever _call me child again you seriously risk losing something you hold_ very _dear."_

_She had barely finished when loud laughter - Vexel's of course - filled the cave._

_~~~_

_"What do you mean, you can't supply us with more weapons? Are you a weapons dealer or not?" Her voice rose dangerously high, threatening to be heard in the next room where a group of Cardassians were having some sort of party. In a much more hushed voice Vexel replied, "Nerys, lower your voice! Unless you want those Cardassians to join us." A deprecating snort by Kira, then she said, "Without a steady weapons supply, we might decide that's just the best way - roll over and give up."_

_She had expected it, but the almost fatherly smile that now appeared on Vexel's face still set her nerves on edge. Dealing with this crazy Romulan had been a challenge from the very beginning._

_~~~_

_"Not_ exactly _?" Kira asked. "You're not exactly a Romulan? How can someone not exactly be a Romulan?" Vexel gave her a soft smile. There was a dreamy expression in his eyes as he looked at the far horizon, "Hmm, let's say I'm mostly a Romulan, shall we?" He gave her a quick glance. "Maybe one day I'm going to tell you the story of my grandmother. She was such a lovely Vulcan lady, even if her clan considered her to be far too eccentric to be respectable - oh, well, the story of my life - not being respectable, a rather grave stigma, but even more often a lot of fun, too."_

_"One day, Rhys? As I see it, now would be the perfect time." She gestured at her right leg, firmly enclosed in a cast that almost reached up to her hip - the unfortunate result of a coup that had gone not as planned._

_"Come on, tell me your sordid family history," she coaxed him._

_The hesitation he put up afterwards was pure show._ He's dying to tell me and we both know it, _she thought_.

_Finally he said in his best conspirator's voice, "It all started with a forbidden love affair of course..."_

_~~~_

_What a strange sensation. She couldn't remember the last time someone had held her like that, a tight embrace meant to give nothing more than simple comfort. Only two hours ago her mother had died. She had been ill for almost a year, a long year of suffering, the insufficient medical care - a result of almost thirty years of occupation - only prolonging it._

_She sobbed, and she couldn't stop the tears that flowed over her face, wetting the Romulan's shirt. Vexel's voice was nothing more than a soft murmur. "I'm sorry, child."_

***

A slight tap on her shoulder brought her back to the present. Standing at her side Vexel looked down at her. She gave him a smile while he slid onto the table's opposite chair. His answering smile however was cut short as he looked down at his plate and its contents. He frowned. "We really need some new supplies." A quick glance thrown in her direction. "Nothing wrong with Hasparat of course, but _every_ day?" He grimaced.

She just gave him a long look, and he continued, "I thought you wanted to rehearse Bashir on his command role."

"Garak threw me out," she said.

"And you let him?" Vexel asked, putting up a face of exaggerated shock. "Do you think that's wise?"

"Oh, wisdom." She rolled her eyes. "Let's just say I know that he'll get our Human to play his role - most likely better than me." She shook her head. "These two trouble me. I don't understand what's happening between them. It's not like Garak to open up to someone so fast - or come to think of it - to open up to someone at all. It makes me uneasy. It makes me suspicious of his motives. Have I told you that Gul Damar actually warned me about him? Think about it: one Cardassian warning me, a Bajoran, about another Cardassian. That's truly bizarre."

She forked up some of her food, but didn't take the bite and continued instead, "I thought I understood how that crazy Cardassian's mind worked - to some extent at least. Now he has suddenly developed a crush on some Human. A Human, Vexel, that's just laughable! And of course I don't trust that Human either." She gave a huge sigh, then eyed her food with some suspicion before raising the fork to her mouth again.

She took a bite of her Hasparat, then almost gagged and swallowed forcibly. "Prophets, you're right about needing supplies, this is awful." She dropped her fork, pushing her plate away.

When she looked up, Vexel was giving her a scrutinizing look. He opened his mouth, then paused as if unsure what to say.

"What?" she asked.

"Maybe you're jealous," he said very tentatively.

"What?" she exclaimed. "You're even barmier than Garak."

"You think so? I believe that despite all your protests to the contrary you've come to trust that Cardassian - in a fashion." He smiled and raised a hand to stop any objections. "A limited fashion to be sure, but there has been an understanding between the two of you - a dynamic or a balance that worked. With the arrival of Bashir that balance has been disrupted and you're still searching for a new one."

"So, what you're saying is that I should stop complaining and act instead," Kira replied grudgingly.

"I wouldn't _dare_ to say such a thing, Nerys. But for better or worse, it will be the three of you, and of course Trenn and Pavale, who'll see our plans come through. "It's your team. If anyone can get them in line, if anyone can find that new balance that will turn them into a true unit, it's most certainly you." He gave her another blinding smile. "You've lead a resistance cell that was far more hopeless, and you managed to accomplish your goals. I have the utmost confidence in you."

Kira gave him a sour grin in return. "Thanks. I only wish I felt the same."


	2. Chapter 2

Starfleet Headquarters, Bajor

The flight towards Ilvia always presented a spectacular view. Sloan looked out of the shuttle's viewport. Ilvia was one of Bajor's bigger cities. It lay in a large valley through which a small river meandered its way, intersecting both valley and city. The Bajorans had a knack for keeping even their larger cities aesthetically pleasing - integrating as many of the valley's natural features as possible. He had only a fleeting glance for the city however because in the city's north a large Starfleet base was slowly taking shape. Starfleet had taken over an old monastery that lay on the northern city limits and using the monastery's larger buildings as the core structure was slowly expanding its Headquarters.

The taking-over of the monastery had been a very controversial decision. It had caused a couple of riots in the streets of Ilvia. The very first had started when a group of Vedeks had gathered in a peaceful protest, that far too soon turned into a much more violent uprising lead by a mob of Bajorans that were anything _but_ peaceful. From then on the following protests had increased in violence, and Starfleet had been forced to respond with more and more forceful and decisive actions every time.

In the end the protests had been crushed, and without too many losses, but the effect had been as dramatic as anyone could've imagined. There was an atmosphere of sullen silence that lay over the city now, an air of slow suffocation that caused many inhabitants to flee to the neighbouring provinces and the surrounding mountains.

The shuttle landed at the base port, and he walked the short distance to the monastery's main building that functioned as the Headquarters entrance. The place was heavily guarded, a testimony to a whole series of failed attempts to infiltrate and sabotage the complex.

Once inside he slowly made his way to his office. Before he reached it however his aide came towards him. Brendan Powell was a young man of twenty-six that looked even younger than that and who greeted the world with an outward enthusiasm and a slight naiveté that charmed almost all around him the instant they met him. Sloan gave him a critical look. He had him for less than a year and was still not sure if taking him in had been the right choice.

He had picked him up on one of his missions that had focused on an internal mess-up within Starfleet, and there lay the reason why he still had him around. This young man had pulled off a major fraud that involved the provision shipments of a Federation starbase, and then had managed to play the complete personnel of said starbase so skilfully and ruthlessly against one another that the station was on the brink of an open war when Sloan had arrived. He considered Powell to be highly intelligent, highly competent and most likely completely amoral - in a way he should be a perfect aid for his line of work in Starfleet Intelligence. There were downsides however.

"Mr. Sloan, you're back," Powell said, stating the obvious, one of his more annoying ticks. Sloan just gave him a patient look. Long experiences on commenting on the blatancy of Powell's statements had taught him that it was best to suffer through them than to try to make Powell get on with it.

"Admiral Ross is here, Sir. He's waiting in your office and he's fuming, although he hasn't told me why." Powell continued, his tone gaining a slight note of indignation. _What a surprise indeed that an Admiral is unwilling to take some 'no-name-lieutenant' into his confidence_ , Sloan thought, amused almost against his will.

Having stopped in one of the monastery's open courtyards, they now picked up their walk towards Sloan's office. "Thanks for the warning Powell, unnecessary as it is. Anything else to report?" Sloan asked.

"The city has been awfully quiet since you left. I'm afraid the Bajorans are cooking something up again, I only hope it won't end in a bloodshed like the last time." He grimaced as if in pain. "Oh, and the Admiral had a heated discussion with a Vorta. He was using your communications terminal, and their discussion developed into a shouting match pretty fast. Unfortunately I don't know what it was all about, not for sure at least."

_Listened at the door and got caught most likely, the little rat_ , Sloan thought amused again and gave his aide an encouraging nod to continue.

"I've heard that the Founders are pressuring us to immediately begin with the next phase of our campaign. They seem very confident that forcing the Cardassian Union to its knees will have a landslide-effect. They believe that it will coerce many of the still existing pockets of resistance and most of the so far neutral planets into submission. And of course there's the problem with the Vulcans."

_Oh, not again_. Why were it always the same species that caused the most trouble, he wondered. Before he could ask Powell what the stubborn Vulcans had done _this_ time however, they had reached his office's door. Stopping and turning to Powell, he said, "I've brought a Bajoran with me. I expect he's already passed processing. Why don't you go and give him a rain check? I have a feeling that we might need him soon."

Powell responded with a clipped nod and suddenly there was a nasty smile on his face that belied the innocent and fresh looks he normally presented to those around him. _Now off you go my little rat,_ Sloan thought, and returning the nod he waved his aide off.

***

On entering his office, he found Admiral Ross standing in front of one of the room's large panoramic windows. Although Sloan had been assigned only a small office, it lay high, on the fourth floor of the building, and it presented an outward view over the outskirts of Ilvia instead of looking into one of the carefully arranged courtyards of the monastery. Sloan didn't mind the slightly cramped accommodations, he much preferred to have his task - his flock - in direct line of sight. It kept him alert, his senses sharp, not dulled by artistically arranged stonework and flora.

"It's really a shame to destroy such beauty," the admiral said with a wistful tone in his voice as Sloan stepped beside him.

"It's for their own good," Sloan replied. Parts of the monastery as well as parts of the cities outskirts were being taken down to build more utilitarian structures for Starfleet's Headquarters, most prominent of course were a couple of guard towers to establish a better defence perimeter. "It's necessary to ascertain peace, to maintain order." He gave the admiral a sidelong glance, gauging the other man's reaction to his words. "It's far more preferable to the order the Dominion would have established if we'd let them," he added putting a maximum amount of righteous conviction in his voice.

The admiral scoffed. "Burning down whole villages isn't something easily seen as preferable," he said. He held up a hand, preventing Sloan from taking up their old argument. "Yes, I know, means to an end and all that." He sighed and turned away from the window. He went over to one of the chairs facing Sloan's desk and sat down.

Sloan followed him over and gracefully slid into his own chair behind his desk. He gave the admiral a sympathetic look and said, "I hear the Dominion is pushing us to move on fast, to keep the momentum and take Cardassia Prime in one swift strike."

With a sharp nod the admiral replied, "Yes, they are, and to make matters worse they seem to feel they have a personal score to settle with the Cardassians. Initially they had accepted a joint protectorate on Cardassia, upheld by the Dominion and us as equal partners. Now however they claim the planet and its system as their prize exclusively. We've negotiated with them for days now. But just when we thought that we finally found a solution everyone could accept, the damn Vulcans decided to act up."

His voice rose as he continued, "Can you imagine? They have threatened to secede from the Federation. They feel they can no longer condone the political and military decisions that are being made in the Federation Council. They have already recalled some of their diplomats from Earth and have announced that their seat in the Council will remain vacant until they have reached a final decision in the matter.

"But, oh, as if that wasn't bad enough, they have come up with one last devastating blow against all our endeavours to contain the Dominion threat in the Alpha Quadrant. Remember that old Vulcan on Romulus? They have officially reinstated him as ambassador. There's an acting and officially appointed Vulcan ambassador on Romulus now!"

Sloan's eyebrows shot up. He was honestly surprised, something that happened very rarely to him. "You mean Ambassador Spock? I thought the Tal'Shiar took him out two years ago?" he said.

"Obviously not." The admiral sighed, then added silently, "I wish they had." He caught himself immediately however and shook his head almost violently, "Oh God, what am I saying? Of course I don't. It's just so damn inconvenient to have a bloody legend popping up right in the middle of this mess."

He fell silent again and Sloan watched him, waiting patiently for him to come round to the point where he would tell Sloan what it was exactly that he expected Sloan to do, which part to play in this drama.

The admiral got up and once again stood in front of the window with his back to Sloan. "The Dominion is pressuring us to enforce the Federation's policy on the Vulcans. They even went so far as to recommend either establishing an occupation force on Vulcan or containing them by setting up a blockade. They are openly threatening the Council that our treaty with them stands and falls with our own ability to 'keep our part of the quadrant in order' as they've put it. It's absolutely out of the question that we treat a member - a founding member of the Federation - like that. But it makes it all the more necessary that we show strength in our campaign."

"Maybe we should have shown strength in the very beginning and stopped the Dominion from gaining a foothold in our quadrant in the first place?" Sloan threw in. "That's what the Bajorans are saying, of course. That it's all the Federation's fault for trying to appease the Dominion. That for all of our stated high principles, we have made a deal with the devil, and now we're forcing everyone to uphold the terms of that pact - willing or unwilling."

The admiral gave a rude snort in response. "It's always easy to criticise in hindsight. I doubt they would have tried that strategy of strength if a wormhole had appeared in their neighbourhood as it did in ours."

Sloan couldn't help himself. It might not be the time, but he simply couldn't resist playing the devil's advocate now, and it was always so easy to push the admiral in the direction he wanted to. "But it did, didn't it? The Cardassians destroyed it as I recall." He saw the admiral's face turn red at the mention.

"Yes, and look what terrible consequences their act of violence had - and for the whole quadrant! One might very well argue that in the end it's all _their_ fault," the admiral concluded.

Sloan nodded thoughtfully. "Theirs, yes, and their Bajoran allies of course. The latter have been quite essential in keeping the resistance up and strong for far too long in my opinion," Sloan said, trickling a little bit of oil into the fire.

"Exactly, and that's the reason why it is so essential to pacify Bajor, and to do so fast. And it's equally essential to move fast against Cardassia. Either we allow ourselves to be driven by the Dominion or we decide to move ahead and take the lead. Only the last option allows us to act out of a position of strength and that's what we want.

"Once we've established peace on Bajor we can make a stronger claim to be part of the Cardassian protectorate. Hopefully that will prevent a lot of bloodshed. There are serious rumours that the Dominion might decide to teach the Cardassians a lesson for opposing the Dominion and destroying their fleet as it travelled through the first wormhole." The admiral paused. Lowering his gaze, he let his eyes wander over the carpet under his feet, following the intricate woven patterns as if he expected to find a way out by following them. He looked up.

_Here it comes_ , Sloan thought.

"Put an end to the riots, put an end to the Bajoran resistance. Convince them that it's for their own good," Admiral Ross said at last, his tone almost a plead. "I'm giving you full executive powers as Head of Planetary Security to do so." Turning around again as if he was unable to give those orders while looking at the man he was giving them to, he added, "We need peace on Bajor. At all cost."

***

After the admiral had left less than a minute went by before his aide Powell strode into the room, unannounced - another of his annoying ticks.

"Hadn't we talked about the existence of door-chimes, Powell? Maybe a flogging could impress the idea upon you?" Sloan said, the irony dripping from every of his words like honey from a spoon.

Powell drew one of his comical expressions of being caught in the act and replied, "Oh I'm so sorry Mr. Sloan, really. I just forgot!" He stopped in front of Sloan's desk, snapping to attention just sloppily enough to pair obedience with a hint of insolence.

There were some complications in his life where a scythe sounded like a fabulous idea in solving them, Sloan thought, even if it might be a bit drastic (and terminal) in calling a recalcitrant aide to order.

"Get that Bajoran. What was his name? Nalas Jarren? Yes, get Mr. Nalas up here. As I expected, it's time for him that he proves himself useful."

Instead of immediately obeying his order Powell hesitated, then said, "You are aware that he's most likely a spy, right Sir?" His aide gave him an uncertain look. "Of course he is a spy, Powell, and I'm almost certain he _wanted_ to be captured. That's irrelevant as long as I can use him for my own agenda. Now be a good aide and run along, will you?" Sloan answered, and he smirked at seeing Powell's reaction to his condescending tone.

His rat felt wounded and he was not too successful in hiding his feelings of being slighted and unappreciated. _Oh yes, the little rat had his pride_. Sloan made a careless shooing motion in Powell's direction and finally his aide scuttled out of the room.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The _Dagger_

They stood on the _Dagger's_ hangar deck, looking at a Federation shuttle that had obviously seen better days. Garak gave it a critical look, trying to estimate the amount of time it would take to get it into a halfway acceptable shape. It would play a crucial role in their plans and he was more than a little sceptical that this half-wreck would do.

He and Bashir had still been rehearsing when the call, informing them of the shuttle's arrival, had come. They had immediately left for the hangar deck and when they got here, Pavale and Trenn had already started to take inventory of all the damage the shuttle had suffered. Now Bashir stood beside him, still in his uniform of Starfleet command. It had caused quite a few of hostile looks and comments on their way through the _Dagger's_ corridors with the effect that the Human's mood that had been dark before now was pitch-black and well below freezing. The picture of one of Cardassia's ancient household deities sprang to Garak's mind. The belief in them was long out of practice, but their pictures had survived the times and there was one that was associated with rain clouds and thunder that Bashir gave a perfect representation of at the moment.

The idea appeared so suddenly in Garak's mind that unthinkingly he almost told his companion. He had already turned towards Bashir and opened his mouth when the glare that greeted him had stopped him at the last second. _Maybe not the wisest idea right now,_ he had thought _._

He had just turned his attention back to the shuttle when Kira came up behind them, saying "And that piece of junk will get us to Dispatch Station 375? How? It looks like a sieve - a badly burned sieve at that." She pushed through between them, but after a glance at Bashir's face she stopped in her tracks. "And _what_ by the Prophets happened to you?" she asked sharply. She raised her hand, reaching out towards Bashir's left eye that was slightly blackening. She didn't touch his face however, her hand hovering in the air, before she let it drop again.

Not waiting for an answer, she drew a deep breath, then said, "Have the two of you been fighting? You know, it's been tedious enough to watch your blatant flirting back on Terok Nor, but _that_ takes it definitely too far." Again she raised her hand, this time capturing Bashir's chin for a second, before she let go and turned around to Garak, giving him a reproachful look.

Strangely he felt at a loss for words for a moment, "We _didn't_ flirt," he finally said. _Not exactly one of your most witty comments, Elim._ He was still searching for a better reply when Bashir spoke up from behind Kira, saying in a tone of righteous indignation, "He hit me!"

Garak saw Kira's eyes widen at the accusation, but she kept her gaze fixed on him.

"Well?" she asked.

And it was uncanny, but he suddenly felt like a five-year old being scolded for misbehaving. He wanted to pinch himself, to break that spell. Instead he broke the eye contact, looking to the side where Trenn was just leaving the shuttle. The Romulan gave their group a curious look before he picked up some tool from a stack of cargo boxes and vanished inside again.

Garak tried his best to answer in a light and teasing voice, showing how utterly unconcerned he felt, "Let's just say our dear doctor isn't exactly a natural talent when it comes to acting. I simply thought an incentive would make him more convincing." He tried his best innocent expression. "It was really for the best, and believe me - afterwards he was brilliant - the very role-model of the angry and arrogant Starfleet command officer."

He looked back at Kira who was still scrutinizing him with the same reproachful look. _And if she now tells me I have to go to bed without dinner, I'm lost_ , he thought, and it was so hard to suppress the undignified giggle he felt rising within, keeping the polite smile he had put on firmly in place.

But instead of Kira who seemed indecisive how to react, it was Bashir who replied dryly, "Thanks, I guess. But I'm warning you - if you ever try that stunt on me again, I'm going to hit back. And don't you think I'm finished with you on this."

Now Kira came to life, stating, "And you have my express permission, Doctor. I think I would welcome such a sight, and please don't feel compelled to play fair with him. It just encourages _him_ to play dirty." She gave Garak a tight-lipped smile, then strode off and entered the shuttle, calling inside, "Trenn, Pavale, I want a preliminary report, now!"

Turning to Bashir, Garak said, "As I see it, we have two options. Either we can follow our intrepid leader and see if we're of any use in fixing this sieve or we can try to get a halfway decent meal." He cocked his head to the side and added, "A stop in sickbay might be a good idea too. You're bruising very easily. If I had known I might have chosen another way to coax you out of your reserve."

Bashir gave a derisive snort but to Garak's surprise he relented faster than expected. "Fine, let's head to sickbay and then you can start making it up to me by wheedling something edible out of the cook. I mean anything but Hasparat."

"Then let's get out of here before the major changes our plans for us." Garak replied.

***

Less than half an hour later they were sitting at their table in the mess hall. Garak had sent Bashir alone to sickbay while he had went ahead to the mess hall. He had wanted to try to procure something that might pass Bashir's judgement in being a little more edible for them. Personally he saw no objective reason why he should make anything up to Bashir. His actions might have been drastic, but in the end they had worked, Bashir himself had admitted it. The doctor's initial attempts to act his part in their rehearsal had been simply pitiful. Garak had suspected him of not being serious with it. Most likely he had still been preoccupied with pondering the fate of that unlucky Starfleet officer whose uniform the good doctor had been wearing. Garak had acted on instinct and it hadn't been _that_ hard a punch either.

Nonetheless he had to concede at least to himself that he preferred the Human's company far more while the other wasn't glaring at him for some perceived insult. It was a matter of compromise really. If it was necessary to resort to some bribery in his pursuit of their acquaintance, friendship, relationship, whatever it was, to anything more, he would do it to stay in the Human's good graces.

In the end he had to trade in that bottle of Bajoran Spring wine he had won from Kira, and that she had promised to get hold of at the first opportunity.

Bashir had looked at his dish suspiciously at first. It was some kind of indefinable stew that the cook had claimed to be quite tasty. To Garak's relief Bashir's face, no longer blemished after his visit to sickbay, had lightened up considerably after a couple of bites. They had shared a most pleasurable meal that was only darkened once when Kira dropped by, telling them that they might have escaped 'sieve-duty' today, but that she expected them in the hangar deck first thing in the morning.

"She's a real slave-driver," Bashir said after she had left. "I wonder if there is one single soft spot in her character - if there is I haven't seen it so far."

Garak smiled in response. "She was born on a planet under occupation, Doctor. She joined the Bajoran resistance when she had barely outgrown childhood. She took over the lead of a resistance cell before she was an adult. Kira has - as you've so eloquently put it - her soft spots, but they are very well hidden. Most likely you won't ever see them," he replied.

"Have you?" Bashir asked and the guileless curiosity he displayed made Garak smile again.

Intentionally misunderstanding he answered, "No, I don't have any soft spots, Doctor, not even hidden ones." His smile grew even wider when Bashir reacted with a frustrated sigh, giving him a look of exasperation.

"You're impossible," he said, "and I think it's quite unfair that you know practically everything about me, but evade any questions I have about you or Kira or - come to think of it - almost everything."

"Hmm, my life so far has been quite unexceptional," Garak remarked, ignoring the renewed look of disbelief that statement earned him. "Let's talk about something else, shall we? Have you heard the rumour that the Vulcans are considering to leave the Federation?" Garak asked.

Bashir first nodded, then shook his head vehemently, "I can't believe it. It sounds just too much like propaganda. I can't imagine that they would do such a thing."

"But think about it, Doctor. What do you suppose would be the reaction of the Federation, of Earth in particular?" Garak persisted.

"They'd have to accept Vulcan's secession of course, but it would send the Federation into an uproar most likely," Bashir said, impatience beginning to colour his voice - or maybe it was a dawning suspicion that also caused a frown to appear on his face.

"Do you truly think they will have that luxury? To simply allow the Vulcans to turn away? Wouldn't that look like weakness to their Dominion masters? Wouldn't it look like allowing a breach of order to occur in the very heart of the Federation? A breach of _that_ order the Dominion so very much reveres?" Garak pushed on.

Bashir's frown had deepened while Garak had raised his questions. Now he sat in utter silence, a look of dejection on his face. It was clear that he had followed Garak's reasoning and didn't like the direction his questions were pointing at.

Finally Garak concluded, "I believe in that rumour. In fact my sources tell me that it's far more than a rumour."

When Bashir still remained silent, he continued, "I applaud the Vulcans for their courage, but I'm deeply worried what fate might lie ahead of them. And apart from all the ramifications their secession might have for them as a people, at least part of our plans rely on their support. We can't risk losing that, so it forces us into stepping up in our time-schedule."

There was a world of emotions flitting over Bashir's face: worry, fear and anger and then a sudden insight must have hit him. His head jerked up and he said, "What are you trying to do? What are you trying to do to me? I know that the Federation isn't flawless! And especially in our handling of the Dominion we have made some serious mistakes. But nonetheless, the Federation's intentions are good! We uphold both the freedom and choice of the individual as our highest values!"

Garak was startled at first, then grew more and more alarmed. It had seemed like an interesting topic to discuss Vulcan's possible secession. He had been sure that Bashir's opinion would be interesting, and he had looked forward to a possibly passionate debate. What he hadn't expected was such a heated and suspicious defence and accusation from the doctor. He tried to interrupt, but Bashir was paying him no heed. He was almost sneering now.

"Look around us: Cardassians bickering with Romulans who try to conspire with Klingons while all three of them allow their fourth ally, the Bajorans, to be run over by the so called enemy. Maybe being ruled by the Federation would really be the best for you!" Bashir said in a voice that was far too loud.

He had been oblivious to the fact that all conversations around them had died down, so that his last words rang out in the mess hall. The following silence was absolute while the eyes of every person in the room rested on Bashir. When realization struck the doctor, he groaned softly and dropped his head.

Garak started to slowly clap his hands.

For a couple of seconds he had been too stunned to come up with anything. He suspected that Bashir didn't truly believe in what he had said. He had lashed out like a cornered vole that saw no other means of escape but to attack. Now it was Garak's job to manoeuvre them out of that corner, and to do so fast before a horde of angry Romulans might decide to lynch them.

Loudly he said, "Very good, Doctor. What a splendid performance. With acting skills like that, I can't imagine any trouble with your next mission." He addressed Trenn who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and was now standing directly behind Bashir. "What do you think, Trenn? Wasn't he utterly convincing?"

Trenn gave him a suspicious glare, while Bashir's head had come up at hearing the Romulan's name. He sat motionless, eyes closed, his face almost white as a sheet.

"Why don't you call it a day, Garak, and take your pet with you? You've caused enough trouble here," Trenn said, his voice icy.

Garak tried to give Bashir a cautioning look, but the Human had his eyes still closed. He most certainly had heard the slur, but on his face was only fear now. Getting up, Garak lightly tapped the Human's wrist. "Come, Doctor, I think that advice is actually sound."

At that Bashir's eyes flew open. He hastily got to his feet, obviously ready to bolt. Garak however made certain that their retreat out of the mess hall happened at a leisurely pace. He'd rather shoot himself than give Trenn the satisfaction of seeing them run.

Once outside they walked in silence for a while. They had almost reached their quarters when Bashir finally said, "Are you going to tell me why?"

The question puzzled him. He had no idea what Bashir might be referring to. "Can't you guess?" he asked in return, falling back to the most basic strategy of answering a question with another question.

Abruptly Bashir stopped. He gave Garak a hard look then sighed loudly. The frustration was clearly written on his face. "I don't know, to provoke me, to drive me insane?"

"Hmm, no. Although I think you're at your most charming when you feel provoked." Garak answered. He barely suppressed a grin - no sense in agitating Bashir more than he already had. "I thought it might be an interesting conversational topic, a perfect subject to debate, nothing more really." He shrugged.

For another long moment Bashir just stared at him. He licked his lips and opened his mouth twice while a deep frown appeared on his face. He didn't say anything though. From one moment to the next his posture changed as his shoulders slumped. With another resigned sigh he said at last "Forget it, I'm going to sleep." He turned and walked away towards his quarters. Just before he reached the doors he stopped again and without turning he added. "Remember that I expect you in sickbay first thing tomorrow." And without waiting for a reply he vanished inside.

For a wile Garak stood in the deserted corridor. Looking at the closed doors of Bashir's quarters, he pondered the latest events of the evening. Things had clearly spun out of control. He had been surprised by Bashir's incensed responses. Had the topic not been so dangerous he would have been utterly delighted, too. However Bashir didn't seem to understand or enjoy the nature of their discussions like he did. He felt confused by the Human's mixed signals towards him. Sometimes Bashir was responding so beautifully to his pursuits, only to throw a childish tantrum at the next moment, burning all the bridges they'd built so far. Maybe he should give him a bit more leeway. Most probably he should give him a _lot_ more leeway, but the simple truth was: he didn't want to. He had fallen for Bashir, and all rational protests of his highly trained Cardassian mind to the contrary hadn't stopped him from pursuing the Human.

Whenever he had gone through this internal debate in the past weeks he had always reverted back to the ultimate rationalisation for his foolishness. With their chances of survival as minimal as they were, he felt that he really deserved some reward for seriously intending to see this to the very end. He had allowed his personal fate to intertwine with this noble and foolish undertaking. He had been shocked when he realized that he had no backup plan - so a reward was certainly appropriate. He shook his head at his own choice of words. Considering Bashir as his personal reward was a truly crooked way of thinking. He must be far too tired.

Yet his rationalization kept haunting him. This plan of theirs would most likely ask for the ultimate sacrifice, maybe not of all of them, but he doubted that they'd pull through this without considerable losses. Possibly for the first time in his life, he felt truly willing to accept this fate for himself. It made him feel intensely Cardassian. _This_ , he thought, _is the essence of_ being _Cardassian_. A second later another thought sprang to his mind. _You're standing in the deserted corridor of a Romulan Interceptor, discussing philosophies with yourself, Elim. Just go to bed._

***

The next morning found Bashir in sickbay. He had spent a very troubled night suffering a bout of acute loneliness that had kept him awake for hours. His mind had again and again gone in circles over the events of the day and especially the evening.

During his rehearsal with Kira and Garak the grisly realization that he was wearing another man's uniform - a man who might have been killed just for that purpose - had thrown him completely off balance, and he had still been struggling to regain his equilibrium when Garak had hit him. All the frustration he had felt over the last weeks, the fear, the loneliness, the feeling of being utterly isolated while being surrounded by a whole group of people whose reactions towards him ranged from mistrust to open hate - the most positive being a grudging tolerance - had broken over him like a wave at that moment.

He had been utterly shocked for a second, standing frozen to the spot while all the pent up frustration had boiled up inside, ready to be released. Garak however hadn't given him any time to protest. He had practically yelled at Bashir to get on with his role and Bashir had reacted without thinking, channelling everything he had felt in that moment into his acting.

Of course he had almost immediately understood the manipulation, but the momentum of his anger had propelled him to go on. Just when he had decided to end his role, to finally confront Garak, the captain's call that Trenn and Pavale had returned, had crossed his plans. On the hangar deck and in the mess hall Garak's non-apology and the surprisingly decent meal had thrown Bashir off his track again. Later he had given that foolish speech. He had no idea what had driven him to say those words and he had felt intensely ashamed the instant they were out.

Not for the first time Garak had lead him around in a not so merry dance. He had let it happen, and he had no illusions why he had allowed it to happen so easily. Despite the fact that Garak's mercurial behaviour drove him crazy again and again - that it left him feeling off balance, confused and insecure - the Cardassian was the only person he had formed a true connection with - both on an intellectual and emotional level. He had thought about this hard, had tried to analyze his own feelings and he wanted this connection. He wanted it to become more, and he was convinced that these feelings and the want were mutual. If only Garak wouldn't treat everything like a game most of the time.

His thoughts turned to the other person he had accompanied when they had fled from Terok Nor. He had tried to find some common ground with Kira, too, but whenever he had tried she tended to disappear behind her mask of leadership. Outwardly she was civil enough, but there was a deep mistrust towards him that she couldn't hide. Last evening Garak's comment that his chances of reaching Kira on a more personal level were minimal at best had almost let him give up hope to ever overcome that mistrust.

That made him even more hesitant not to upset the only functional relationship he had on the _Dagger._ This morning however, he felt that a limit had been reached. He had enough of going through this kind of emotional rollercoaster, and the feeling of being played with started to sicken him.

It was still quite early and he was standing in the _Dagger's_ sickbay, waiting for Garak to show up, while he tried to come up with another plan how to confront the Cardassian. The problem would be how to break through all the masks and poses that Garak tended to throw into his face whenever they were together.

He was still thinking about the best possible strategy when Garak practically breezed in, a smile on his face. Without waiting for the request he hopped onto the nearby bio-bed and said, "Good morning, Doctor. I hope you have slept well?"

"Well, actually," Bashir started to respond as he stepped closer, but was immediately interrupted again. Garak reached out, slightly touching Bashir's cheek. It was such a gentle gesture and so unexpected that it made Bashir pause.

"You look tired," Garak said, "I hope I didn't contribute to what looks like the after-effects of a very troubled night." He raised his eyeridges, giving Bashir a questioning look.

"If you ask like that," Bashir began only to be interrupted by Garak again, who said, "If I have Doctor, please accept my deepest apologies." He paused for a second, and a thoughtful look appeared on his face, then his expression lit up. "I promise to be more considerate in the future." He clapped his hands in a business-like fashion, startling Bashir who flinched at the sudden sound and movement. "Now, let's get on with the treatment shall we? You promised it would be the last, right?" Garak asked briskly.

Bashir felt completely outmanoeuvred and not for the first time. He saw practically no other option but to comply now. With a frustrated sigh he turned to get a glove and the salve to apply it for the last time as Garak had suggested.

"How's your leg?" he asked, following a sudden inspiration. "I noticed that you tend to favour it sometimes. You're also surprisingly clumsy lately. If it bothers you, you should say something." He gave Garak as stern a look as he could manage while he kept his touch of the Cardassian's scar as feathery light as he could, making scrupulously certain that nothing of his frustration bled into it.

The look Garak gave him in return was suddenly bemused if not outright irritated, all signs of the former joviality gone. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Doctor. My leg is perfectly fine. The shot-wound is completely healed, courtesy to your own medical expertise I might add. I'm most certainly _not_ limping!" he said unexpectedly sharp.

Bashir was puzzled by the tartness of the reaction, but that didn't stop him from continuing "Oh? Well, maybe I misinterpreted. Hmm," he paused, putting on a thoughtful look, "on the other hand being clumsy without a cause just doesn't sound like you, wouldn't you say?" He smiled beatifically.

"What?" Garak said. His face showed that he was truly struggling to get what Bashir might be hinting at. _Either he's playing daft or he's really slow this time_ , Bashir thought. _Whatever, I'm not going to explain_ this _time._

When Garak looked like he wanted to ask another question, it was Bashir who interrupted him.With a sharp pull he snapped the glove off his hand. He casually flung it towards the waste bin. It hit the lid with a soft but satisfying thud, vanishing inside. Just as casually Bashir gave the Cardassian a sloppy salute and walking to the sickbay's entrance he said, "See you at the hangar deck."

On his way to the shuttle, he recapitulated the scene in the sickbay. He might not have been able to see his original plan through in outright confronting Garak about his offensive behaviour of the previous days, but at least he'd given him something to think about - making him pause. For once he had played the Cardassian's game of dropping hints and had actually scored a hit. It was only a small victory, but he had so rarely enjoyed anything like it since coming on board of the _Dagger_ that he felt immensely better. And it was just the tiniest nagging suspicion warning him that there might very well be incalculable and unexpected fall-out.

***

In the end it turned out to be a rather tiresome day. Although Pavale had done miracles, there was a lot of structural damage that still needed repairs. "We pulled it out of the vestiges of an asteroid field. As far as we know it was abandoned by its crew after a skirmish with a Klingon Bird of Prey. Without propulsion it drifted in that asteroid field for quite some time. Not surprisingly it got hit by some of the drift while being inside," Pavale had explained to them when Garak had asked about the damage.

"And you are sure that we can get it space-worthy until tomorrow? You are aware that our time-schedule has gotten much tighter, right?" Garak had asked again.

Pavale had nodded decisively. "Yes, and yes, and no problem, the engines are good enough. It just needs a couple of patches and thorough cosmetics on the outside of course. As long as it only has to get us to that Dispatch Station and doesn't have to do anything fancy like having weapons capabilities, we're good to go tomorrow," she had answered with absolute confidence.

"And just so we can reach that deadline, why don't the two of you get cracking?" Kira had chimed in. Pavale had sent them to the aft compartment with orders to start basic repairs to achieve full hull integrity. She had made it clear that she expected them to be as thorough as if their lives depended on it which, she had added, they actually did.

Garak had casually replied, "Not my life, but we'll see what we can do." He had pulled Bashir through the compartment's door before Pavale had been able to comment on his remark. They rapidly settled into a routine with Garak scanning the inner hull for any perforations and Bashir moving behind, using a multiphasic-welder to seal them. They had gone about their work in silence, an uncomfortable and on Garak's part decidedly hostile silence.

At first Bashir had been surprised at that, before his stubbornness had set in. _Fine, let's see how long he's able to play the insulted innocent. It's definitely a new role, and I so very much don't care right now,_ Bashir had thought.

They worked in silence for nearly four hours until Kira who had checked on their progress a couple of times finally asked, "What's the matter with you? Normally the two of you would chatter away like mad. Have you made some vow of silence or can it be that you finally have run out of conversation topics?"

She looked back and forth between them, and when no answer came she shook her head saying, "You're hopeless, both of you." She gave a resigned sigh. "Come on out. Trenn has organized something he claims to be suitable for eating and it's time for a break."

Outside the shuttle Pavale and Trenn were sitting on some crates that had been stacked near the side of the hangar deck. They both looked up when their trio came near. Trenn made an overtly jovial welcome gesture. "Ah, the staunch defender of the Federation and his applauding audience," he said mockingly.

"Leave it, Trenn," Garak replied. He grabbed one of the bowls and Bashir followed his example and sat down. They seemed to contain the same stew that he and Garak had eaten the day before. Trenn gave a derisive snort, but to Bashir's surprise he didn't continue his ridicule. Maybe it was Kira's silent look of warning that stopped him. Whatever it was, Bashir was grateful that he didn't have to face any more comments or questions about his statements of the past evening. He wondered if Kira had heard about his 'performance'. Most likely she had. He had attracted definitely enough attention.

When all of them had settled down Kira asked Pavale, "What's the verdict?" She nodded towards their shuttle. The engineer had been looking through a whole stash of readings and reports while she had absentmindedly wolfed down her food. Now she looked up with a real smile and said, "Our _Sieve_ will be ready, you can count on it."

Trenn set his bowl down with enough force so that half of its content sloshed over the rim spraying over the crate's surface. "I still believe that it's unwise to hasten our plans just because the Vulcans are acting up. My sources have assured me that the plans for secession are in a very preliminary stage. Us rushing ahead just on the assumption that the Vulcans might indeed decide to pull out of the Federation is foolishness." The outburst came as a shock to everyone. Trenn wasn't the type to lose his self-control like that. Bashir looked around and saw faces that showed varying degrees of alarm and surprise. It weren't Trenn's words that were so unexpected, but how agitated and angry he had become while he spoke.

After he had finished there was a minute of silence as Kira slowly set her bowl down, too. Turning towards Trenn she said in a conciliatorily tone, "But it was those same resources of yours that stated that _should_ Vulcan secede from the Federation any support we might have received from Starfleet vessels currently under Vulcan command will cease to be available. Those however are our best chance to make it to and through the wormhole. It's in Federation space, Trenn. It's practically in Earth's neighbourhood. It's heavily guarded _and_ it's very likely that we'll need some backup from inside of the Federation to gain access."

For a long moment they stared at one another before Trenn gave a grudging bow of his head. Picking up his bowl again he ended the discussion by saying, "I concede your point, but my people have a saying: _Only fools rush to the fires of Gal Gath'thong_."

***

It took them another three hours until the five of them finally stood in front of a Starfleet shuttle that more or less resembled the real thing. Bashir was surprised that they had finished it within their tight schedule. Looking at the others he thought he saw the same surprise paired with a lot of satisfaction there too.

Kira spoke up first and her approval was obvious. "We made it. I admit I had my doubts, but we actually made it. It bodes well for our team, I believe. After all the internal strife of the past days I'm relieved to see that we can also work towards a constructive goal."

She took a step forward and turned to face the others. "So far so good. Tomorrow Pavale, Bashir and myself will leave to get our hands on a Jem'Hadar fighter. Once we have one of these, we'll have made a big step towards our goal of having a reliable ship that will get us to the Gamma Quadrant. Hopefully Garak and Trenn will have come up with the navigational data necessary to find the homeworld of the Founders when we return." She gave the two men a long and meaningful look.

Bashir thought he saw in it both acknowledgement and warning. Something following the lines of 'I know you are competent enough to do this - just behave, you two.'

He smiled and mumbled to himself "As easy as pie." Though when he noticed that everyone was looking at him, he wished he had remained silent as he saw faces that showed expressions varying from slight puzzlement to marked impatience. He ducked his head, not knowing how to explain.

"You're not hungry again, are you Doctor? Garak asked him with a frown and Bashir hastily replied, "Oh, no, just ignore me."

It was Trenn who answered him after a moment, "I try constantly, Doctor, believe me."

***

Bashir spent the rest of the afternoon in sickbay since their plan not only required him to pose as a Starfleet command officer, but Kira, too. There wasn't much cosmetic surgery necessary, but it still took almost all of the remaining afternoon and early evening to get it done. The fact that Kira proved to be a rather difficult patient didn't help to speed things up. It wasn't a surprise though, and he wisely refrained from commenting on it.

He left sickbay intent on finding Garak when he discovered the Cardassian already waiting for him right outside of sickbay. "I had meant to come looking for you. I'd like to talk to you and," Bashir began and then his words faltered when he saw the look of contempt on Garak's face.

Instead he asked, "What's the matter?"

Garak was angry that much was obvious, but why? For a moment the Cardassian seemed to search for words, then he said, "Hmm, let's see. Insinuating that I'm not able to achieve our objectives? How about that? And then not having the nerve to apologize when an apology clearly was called for."

"What?" Bashir replied, instantly irritated and exasperated at the sheer irrationality of the accusation. "What are you talking about? I didn't insinuate anything of the kind!"

"You called me a cripple!" Garak was truly livid now. He wasn't shouting but instead there was a tightly controlled simmering anger that showed in the tension of his body and a tone of voice that was vehement and clipped at the same time.

"I didn't! I called you an insensitive brute, that's what I did!"

"What?" Garak's look of disbelief was almost comical. "You didn't, and even if you did, why would you do such a ridiculous thing?" he snapped.

Bashir felt his anger rise even more. Finally he had a chance to vent it, and by all appearances he was getting through with his words, all facades were down.

"Because you are, that's why! Especially since we've arrived on the _Dagger_! And I'm tired of your games," he snapped back. "I'm all alone here, surrounded by people who despise me. I'm tired of these games you play. I'm tired of your manipulations and I'm most certainly tired of being treated as convenient entertainment! I believed there was friendship between us, that we were kindred spirits in a way - a strange way most likely - but hey, I'm glad for anything I can get. I'm not exactly in a position to be picky."

Bashir drew a deep breath. Even as he said it, he had realized that the last remark was foolish, and he wasn't sure how to continue. While it was satisfying to voice his frustration, he hadn't meant to completely antagonize the Cardassian. On the contrary, he still believed that they had been drawn to one another because there was something special between them, maybe even something profound. He had just decided to tell Garak exactly that, when he beat Bashir to it.

"Oh, the traitor can't be picky, so he tries to befriend a Cardassian? Not enough Humans around here for your liking? So that sentiment of yours that being ruled by the Federation would be the best for us _was_ your true opinion after all? How _very_ interesting." Garak had started out very emphatic, but at the end his voice turned icy.

This time however Bashir wouldn't let himself be outmanoeuvred. He immediately shot back, "How very clever of you, my friend, but I'm not going to be sidetracked by one of your tricks. This isn't about species and this isn't about politics. It's about you and me." He raised an accusing finger at Garak. "Why can't you just stop being such a bastard?" he asked, and above all there was a world of incredulity in his voice.

For a moment they stared at one another, both livid, but when Garak slowly came towards him, his face turned into an impassive mask. Bashir felt a strong dejá vu to that first encounter in the holding cell area on Terok Nor. He couldn't read Garak's expression, but he was certain he must have seriously angered the Cardassian. Obviously Garak had given up on words and was ready to subdue him by other means.

"Really Garak, I thought we've moved past _this_ kind of threats," Bashir said and even to his own ears his voice sounded far too acerbic. The words were out now however, and he steeled himself for the inevitable reaction when Garak stopped for a second, his eyes narrowing. Bashir had barely time to utter to himself a silent ' _oh, shit'_ before he found himself pressed to the corridor's wall.

He closed his eyes and tried to find the energy to put up at least a token of a struggle, waiting for the inevitable hand at his throat. It was almost a shock when it didn't come. He felt the Cardassian's body pinning him to the wall, Garak's hands at his shoulders. He was well and truly trapped, but he suddenly realized that he wasn't helpless.

It would have been a lie to say that it was a well thought-out, conscious decision that prompted him to act as he did, but when he became aware of Garak's breath ghosting over his own lips his reaction was just a mixture of defiance and dare. Only the slightest move forward on his part and their lips met. It wasn't much of a kiss, more a very brief statement like a glove thrown to the ground at the feet of an adversary. Bashir pulled back again almost instantly, opened his eyes and a frozen second of utter stillness went by while they stared at one another.

"And who's playing games now _and_ changing the rules in the middle of it?" Garak asked, but the accusation was made with a smile. He didn't wait for a reply though but again closed the distance between them.

Their second kiss was anything _but_ brief and much more satisfying. _We'll still have to talk about this,_ Bashir thought. _But maybe not today, maybe tomorrow will be soon enough._ All the urgency he had felt less than a minute ago had left him. He was more than willing just to enjoy anything that might happen now. The thrill that it was actually happening now caused the most thrilling flutter in his stomach and made his pulse race.

"Would you _please_ get a room, boys." Kira's voice came from behind them where she now stood in the open doors that lead to sickbay. They broke the kiss but Garak didn't step back and didn't relinquish his hold on Bashir. He kept his gaze firmly locked with his while he said, "We most certainly will, Kira." He grinned and raised an eyeridge in a questioning gesture and Bashir grinned back, mirroring the expression. Finally Garak gave Kira a casual glance over his shoulder and said, "Would you excuse us, please?" Stepping back he grabbed Bashir's wrist, and started to drag him away.

Bashir let him, he too threw a look over his shoulder, giving Kira a grin of his own that most probably looked rather goofy and earned him a resigned shake of her head in turn. She vanished out of his sight when Garak pulled him around a corner.

***

An hour later they were in Garak's quarters. The room was dark and quiet and they were in bed, lying side by side.

"You know, I really wouldn't call it a disaster per se," Bashir said, aiming for a light tone, but what came out only sounded strained even to his own ears. His words were greeted by icy silence. He turned to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. Garak didn't move though, didn't react, as his eyes stayed stubbornly closed, his face remained a stony mask.

_So much for all the clichés of hot interspecies sex_ , Bashir thought, _the thrill, the excitement, forbidden pleasures - the whole exoticism spiel._ Unfortunately in the past hour the two of them had discovered quite a lot of the things that _weren't_ part of that particular stereotype: the false assumptions, the misunderstandings, the embarrassment, the involuntary bruises - both of nerves and skin.

He almost snorted in response to his own thoughts, only suppressing it by a hand hastily pressed over his mouth. No way was he risking the consequences of such a deprecating sound being misunderstood by his current bed-mate. Right now the chances for such a misunderstanding were a good one hundred percent.

At first, things had started out so well and quite enthusiastic between the two of them. He had been utterly delighted. He couldn't say what changed, but something did. Things had went downhill pretty fast after that until their mood had not only been killed, but hanged, drawn and quartered - not to mention firmly trodden into the ground. Finally they had just given up. They had lain in an uneasy and surprised silence caused by wounded pride and injured dignity.

Later still his first attempt at trying to save at least some of that pride and dignity had resulted in such a violent hissing-fit by the Cardassian that Bashir - acting on nothing but pure instinct - had almost fled the bed, his imagination showing him pictures of a large king cobra ready to bite. Unsurprisingly _that_ incident hadn't exactly been helpful in calming the waves between them either.

Now he was tentatively reaching out again. Just before he could actually touch Garak's shoulder however, the Cardassian suddenly opened his eyes. "I'm tired," he said flatly, his eyes fixed to the ceiling and then turned to his side, presenting Bashir his back, making it clear that there was no hope and no wish for any attempt of reconciliation now.

Getting out of bed and getting dressed again and padding through mostly deserted corridors to his own quarters took Bashir mere minutes. Falling asleep took far, far longer however, and it was with thoughts of murder that he finally dozed off.


	4. Chapter 4

The _Sieve_

She'd give him five minutes. Five minutes, and then Kira would go and drag Bashir to the hangar deck. Should she have to drag him out of some Cardassian's bed, she would do the same accompanied by some loud yells, too, she promised herself.

She continued with the shuttle's pre-flight checks, the whole time keenly aware of the empty co-pilot's seat beside her. _And I'm most definitely_ not _jealous. I'm rightfully angry because some people seem to think punctuality isn't important._

Another impatient look through the shuttle's viewport, and she was just about to get up when she saw Bashir entering the hangar deck. She watched him jog towards them, vanishing around the shuttle's side, then his footsteps came up behind her. "Glad you could find the time, Bashir," she threw over her shoulder, keeping her attention on the controls in front of her.

"I'm sorry," he said in a small voice. He moved to the co-pilot's seat and sat down with a heavy sigh.

She thought that he looked awfully tired and unhappy. For a fleeting second she felt sympathy, but then she remembered the most likely cause for his tiredness and huffed. She didn't grace his apology with another response, but activated the shuttle's intercom system. "Pavale? Everything ready?"

"As ready as it will ever be," Pavale's voice answered, followed by the hiss of the aft compartment's door as Pavale joined them in the front. She stepped behind them, casually leaning on the backrest of Bashir's seat.

Kira powered up the engines and cautiously manoeuvred them out of the Interceptor's hangar. Vexel's voice came over their intercom. "We'll expect you at our rendezvous-point in no more than a week. Try not to get caught."

"We'll do our best Rhys," Pavale replied.

***

It took them almost a day to make it halfway to Dispatch Station 375 and up until then their trip went by as uneventfully as anyone could hope for. Now however the peace and silence was over. For whatever reason Pavale seemed dead set to pick a fight.

It had started inconspicuously enough when Pavale had remarked that it was a shame that the only _real_ Human they had on this trip had such a poor qualification for the job ahead.

At first Bashir had just laughed at her remark. He had even agreed with her how much better they would be off with someone who had a background in engineering or piloting maybe. For a while things had quieted down. But not too long afterwards, Pavale had picked up on that remark. In a conversational tone she had asked Bashir if he thought that ingratiating himself with their Cardassian was sufficient to make up for his lack of usefulness, and how far he was really willing to go with it.

For a second Bashir had just stared at Pavale, then he had snapped at her to mind her own business. He had looked very upset at that moment. Kira had been impressed with his self-control. If she'd been in his shoes she most probably would've felt an overwhelming urge to punch that smug smile out of Pavale's face, and she wasn't so sure if she would've been able not to act on it.

She had tried to intervene before things could turn too ugly between the doctor and the engineer, and then one thing had led to another and to their present argument about Bashir's qualification or lack thereof.

Pavale said, "I just want to make it clear that a lot of our plan depends on Bashir convincing the station's personnel that he truly is who he says he is. That's all."

"He can pull it off," Kira answered for what felt like the hundredth time to her. She was rapidly losing her patience.

Pavale gave them both a doubtful look, "Nominally he might be an officer, but he has no command experience," she said. "But if you say so. You're the leader of this mission after all." And with a look that clearly conveyed how many doubts she had about _that_ last statement, too, she turned around to her station.

Kira looked over at Bashir. The Human was eying Pavale's back with a dark expression on his face. When he noticed Kira's attention on him he turned to her and gave her a silent nod, acknowledging and thanking her for her support. _Now he only has to prove that he can_ really _pull this off_ , Kira thought.

As if on cue the hail of an incoming transmission filled the shuttle cabin. Kira answered it and a raspy voice came over the shuttle's intercom. "The target has been taken out. Transmitting all retrieved personnel and mission data." Without waiting for an acknowledgement or a signing off the transmission was cut.

Grateful for the interruption Kira started to pull up the data they had received, putting it on the shuttle's central display so they could study it together.

"Finally," she said, "now let's see what we got."

The data showed that their mysterious contact had intercepted a Starfleet transport en route to the Dominion's Dispatch Station 375 they were heading for. The transport would've delivered two Starfleet officers to the station that were meant to serve as liaison officers on board of a Jem'Hadar fighter. The practice of assigning Starfleet personnel to the lead ships of every Jem'Hadar fighter squadron was relatively new. There wasn't much known about what exactly that personnel was supposed to be doing on those fighters. It posed a considerable risk, but it had also offered them an almost perfect cover to get on board a Jem'Hadar ship - a somewhat necessary pre-requisite to stealing one.

It had been Kira herself and Captain Vexel who had come up with this idea and it had been Vexel who had arranged the search for a suitable transport to intercept. He had claimed he would use some absolutely trustworthy contacts that he adamantly refused to talk about. Kira suspected that the wily old Romulan might even have contacts in the Federation, possibly even on Earth that he could draw upon. For this raid though she suspected some Klingons behind it. But whoever the contact had been, they'd done their job, and that was all that counted right now.

"So, we are Lieutenant Commander Wilkens - that will be you - and Commander Asprey, transferring to the lead ship of Jem'Hadar fighter squadron seven," Kira said. "We're expected to arrive in twenty-four hours. That doesn't leave us any margin, but barring any incidents we should be able to make it in time."

She sifted through the data on display. "It looks like the authorization codes to confirm our identities are complete and our mysterious helpers even had the courtesy to fit them to our different appearances. What's missing is any information what our assignment on that Jem'Hadar fighter might entail," she said. "Damn, that's really our weak point in all this," she cast a sidelong glance at Pavale, "well, that, and finding a way to get Pavale on board after getting rid of the rest of the Jem'Hadar crew, _and_ getting clear of the station before they blow us to pieces, of course."

Pavale snorted, then she suddenly started to giggle. "Easy as pie, right, Doctor?" She swivelled in her chair giving Bashir an amused and open smile.

Kira was surprised. That almost looked and sounded like a peace offering. She hadn't expected that from the Romulan, though it was a pleasant surprise for sure.

Bashir seemed to be as surprised as herself. He looked at Pavale and for a moment he seemed unsure how to react, then he returned her smile. With a grimace of exaggerated resignation he told them, "It's really just a saying. Can we please stop the food references? And yes, I do have other things I occasionally think about." Suddenly he grinned coyly. "Ask Kira, she can explain."

Kira only shook her head and joined in the following laughter. She brought it to an end by saying, "Come on you two. Let's take a good look at all this data. There's a Jem'Hadar fighter waiting to be liberated, and I'd like to be as prepared as possible."

***

Exactly twenty-two hours later their _Sieve_ aka the Federation shuttle _San Diego_ was announcing its approach to the Dominion's Dispatch Station 375. Pavale was already safely locked away in the aft compartment that would be her home until they'd found a way to get her safely out of there. Until then it would be just Bashir and herself on whose shoulders the outcome of their mission rested.

"You're cleared for docking," came the terse reply, "proceed to the shuttle bay."

Kira glanced over at Bashir. He was unconsciously rubbing his thighs, looking at the station that slowly started to fill their viewscreen. "Acknowledged," she replied. Correcting their course slightly, she brought the shuttle about.

The docking went smoothly, but within minutes they found themselves standing in the station's shuttle bay and right in front of their _Sieve,_ already having an argument with a Jem'Hadar soldier. From the very start he had treated them much more like criminals instead of showing them the respect that should've been their due as officers representing an allied power.

"Why is your aft compartment sealed?" He asked for the third time.

Kira decided it was high time that she finally lost her patience. "You know what? I've had enough! We've told you twice now that we came under attack on our way here, and that our shuttle suffered damage. You've admitted yourself that your scanners corroborate that. I'm telling you - and mind you, it's for the last time - our aft compartment is sealed because we have problems with a minor radiation leak. We've taken care of it, and it's neither your problem nor your business. We will repair it ourselves, and trying to interfere won't work. If you have a problem with that, call your superior. With you," and here she took a half-step towards the Jem'Hadar who was already towering over her, stabbing her finger in his face, "I'm done!"

She huffed loudly and was considering if she should continue in her rant, when Bashir cut in, saying in a voice that practically dripped with condescension, "Come on, Asprey, let's just leave. I wasn't too enthusiastic about this assignment from the beginning." He made a more than rude gesture and turned to leave when a new voice interrupted them.

"Is there a problem?" The voice was smooth, far smoother than the Jem'Hadar's and somewhat oily. All three of them turned and saw a Vorta coming towards them. Kira felt the hairs on her neck rise. On first sight he looked like a standard example of his people - a fair complexion contrasted by bright blue eyes and curly dark hair. He wore a rather lavish suit that seemed more fitting to a rich merchant than a station's administrator. _I wonder whom he wants to impress with that outfit - us?_ She felt revulsion at the idea. While Kira had no love for the Jem'Hadar, she hated _those_ slimy bastards with a true passion - a passion that was perhaps only rivalled by her intense hatred for the Founders themselves.

She was about to give the Vorta a piece of her mind, when she felt Bashir's hand on her shoulder stopping her.

"Not as far as we are concerned, no," Bashir answered in her stead and he sounded perfectly pleasant at that.

_Of course he has no problem sucking up to them._ The thought popped into Kira's mind unbidden. _He's a Human._ Then she scolded herself. _Don't be unfair. He's playing his role as he should - possibly even better than yourself_. The Vorta's voice interrupted her thoughts.  

"I am Weyoun," he introduced himself. "You must be Commanders Asprey and Wilkens, a pleasure to meet you." The accompanying servile and somewhat false smile made Kira's stomach churn.

Bashir nodded. "Yes we are. I'm Commander Wilkens, and this is my colleague Commander Asprey." He gestured towards Kira who gave a courteous nod, but remained otherwise silent. Turning back to the Vorta he added, "Pleased to meet you, too." He smiled winningly, before he continued, "We had some trouble getting here. We got waylaid by a Klingon Bird of Prey and had a very narrow escape. Unfortunately your guard here," he gestured at the Jem'Hadar, "seems to be intent on continuing our troubles now."

"Well?" the Vorta asked in the direction of the Jem'Hadar. To Kira's surprise the guard didn't pursue the matter of their sealed aft compartment, but simply said, "No trouble."

Weyoun gave him a scrutinizing look in response, then turned his attention back to Bashir. Putting that infernal smile back on, he said, "Very good, follow me then. The mission briefing will begin in an hour."

***

To Kira's relief that hour passed without any trouble, To her secret glee they learned also that immediately afterwards they would get on board of one of the two Jem'Hadar fighters they would be assigned to. They would receive basic instructions and were scheduled to leave in two days time for their allotted mission. They hadn't expected to be assigned to two different ships, but if everything went according to plan that wouldn't matter after all.

The mission briefing turned out to be a rather short and terse affair. Weyoun held it, and apart from the two of them and the Vorta, only one Jem'Hadar, who was presented to them as the First of one of their assigned ships, was present.

"Your ships will be part of a possible blockade force stationed near Vulcan. Your mission will be to ensure that should a blockade prove necessary it will be established without delay and with the highest efficiency." He looked at Kira and Bashir, "As liaison officers it will be your task to guarantee a smooth cooperation with the Starfleet contingent of the blockade force. "An ultimatum has been made towards the Vulcan government. Either they submit and follow the Federation's line of policy, or as a first step the blockade will be put into effect. Further disciplinary actions might follow, though of course," and here the Vorta nodded in Bashir's and Kira's direction, making no attempt to hide his condescension, "determining which will be the most suitable lies in the Federation's jurisdiction."

Kira saw Bashir frown. _Prophets, don't let him say anything stupid now_ , she thought. To her relief he kept silent and just answered the Vorta's comment with a nod.

"Do you have any questions?" the Vorta asked and at their negatives he called the briefing to a close.

After he had left them, the Jem'Hadar First turned towards them. "Follow me. I will take you to our fighter-bay. You will be taught all the basic ship functions you need to know, and I'll present you to your respective crews."

Their trip through the station went mostly in silence. Kira used the walk to get a first impression of the station's layout. What immediately struck her was how quiet and deserted the whole station seemed to be. During their walk they came across no more than a handful of civilian personnel and equally few Jem'Hadar. One empty corridor followed the other and after a while the depressing atmosphere was really getting to her. _Not much to learn here_ , she thought and shifted her attention to Bashir and the First.

Bashir was doing his best to get at least some information out of their escort, but the Jem'Hadar obviously wasn't in the mood for small-talk. Any questions that held even the slightest informational value - a discreet question about the station's layout, the number of people and fighters stationed here - he blocked completely. His comment that Bashir was far too curious for his own good and should concentrate on his mission instead of asking security-relevant questions finally caused Bashir to fall silent.

The fighter bay turned out to be a large hangar with one side opening to space that was at the moment sealed off by a force-shield, keeping the bay pressurized. It followed the typical Starfleet design - not surprising since the station had once been Starfleet's. They had given a couple of them to the Dominion as a gesture of 'good-will'.

As they went through an adjacent corridor that was equipped with large viewports on one side, they could see into the hangar and there were their two fighters, standing side by side. Right next to one of the viewports was a map of the surrounding sector, and it displayed a multitude of ship's positions. Though she wasn't able to take a very good look at it, the sheer number of ships caused ice-cold fear to shoot through her before she managed to rein it in, and to school her features back to outward calm. _Silly fool,_ she scolded herself. _Of course their fleet is large. They wouldn't have been able to push the Federation into their appeasement policy if they weren't, not to forget the large number of independent worlds they've taken so far._

She looked over at Bashir and saw the same troubled expression on his face, that hers must have had mere seconds ago. She jabbed him in the ribs, raising her eyebrows, and he seemed to get the message and gave her a nod and one of his slightly sheepish looking lop-sided smiles. He schooled his features to careful neutrality.

Rounding a corner they finally entered the hangar itself. A short walk brought them to one of the fighters where another Jem'Hadar was waiting for them at an airlock. He was slightly taller then the First and as far as she could differentiate between them at all, he seemed to have a rather brutish air about him.

The First introduced them. "This is the Sixth of my ship. He will introduce you to everything you need to know."

Kira nodded, but before she could say anything Bashir interrupted in a sharp voice.

"That is completely unacceptable! You might do our introductions yourself or you might delegate that duty to your Second, but letting your Sixth perform them? Forget it!" He had crossed his arms in front of his chest while he spoke, and there was a belligerent look on his face.

Kira was startled at first, then involuntarily impressed. She wouldn't have noticed the affront, but he was right of course. That became especially clear as the First and the Sixth exchanged a quick glance. The First gave a short nod and the other Jem'Hadar left them.

"Follow me," the First said, making no further comment about Bashir's protest. They walked through the airlock and entered the fighter.  It was an exercise in claustrophobia. The ship was definitely not designed to offer any amenities. Its design also didn't care about the psychological health of its crew. Any other species took more or less attention to guarantee a certain level of well-being for its flight-crews - not so here.

The ship was designed with technical efficiency in mind, nothing else. The corridors were narrow, the lighting slightly too harsh. On entering the bridge, she noticed with dismay that there wasn't any viewscreen to show the outside of the ship, and while, yes, having a large viewscreen wasn't a real necessity, it was a convention that practically every species was following in its ships' designs. It reflected the psychological need of being able to visually orientate oneself in space, even if the orientation was mostly an illusion. The fact that there was not even one single chair seemed almost negligible in comparison.

The First led them to a central station in the middle of the bridge. "This is the command station of the ship," he said. Making a sweeping gesture, he indicated the other stations that surrounded the central one. "These are engineering, communications and tactical one and two. Your place will be at communications. You'll man it during your shifts, and you won't leave it unless ordered otherwise, understood?"

The two of them nodded obediently. Right now they had every reason to play along. These instructions were crucial. They needed to learn as much as possible about the ship's layout, its crew, and most of all how to fly it.


	5. Chapter 5

The _Dagger_

Almost a day had passed since Kira, Bashir and Pavale had left. Garak was once again sitting in the _Dagger's_ small conference room with Trenn. For a while Captain Vexel had been there, too, but he had been called away by ship's business before they had even started discussing the reason for their meeting. They'd been talking about the absent members of their team and their mission, and it was Garak who finally changed the subject, bringing up their own immediate objective, "As expected I was contacted by a member of the Bajoran resistance. They've informed me that the navigational data we're seeking has been secured at Starfleet's Headquarters at Ilvia, and is waiting on the surface."

Instead of answering, Trenn just raised his left eyebrow.

"Oh please don't give me that Vulcan act again," Garak continued, "I know it's a trap. It's supposed to be a trap, but that won't stop us from going down there. It's just a matter of double-crossing whoever is trying to cross us in the first place. After all, that's the reason why we decided to go after this information from two different angles." He couldn't resist the temptation of letting his voice turn rather condescending. He also couldn't resist adding, "Well, that's not exactly one of the high points of the Tal'Shiar, I know. I had assumed however that since you left them and joined the _Dagger's_ crew in the past years, you must have overcome at least some of the sloppiness your former masters are so infamous for."

Now both of Trenn's eyebrows shot up and he answered, "Says the man, who got thrown off his home-planet by his own father - and out of the Obsidian Order - because of...hmm, how did you put it, an argument about politics?" He gave a derisive snort.

"It was," Garak replied lightly. "We Cardassians take our politics quite seriously, I assure you. Not to mention our familial ties," he added meaningfully. He smiled widely and put up a hand as Trenn was about to answer again.

"Peace, Trenn. To cut this delightful conversation short, and between the ex-spies and experts that _we_ are, I have the utmost confidence that we'll be able to play the Federation for the fools _they_ are."

To Garak's immense satisfaction Trenn gave a tight-lipped smile in response, even if it was only the slightest one. _Common ground,_ Garak thought. _It can be found in the unlikeliest of places. If this works well, I might even decide not to throttle the fool at the earliest feasible opportunity._

_"_ Then tell me how far you've got with your part of the plan, and I'll tell you about the arrangements I have made so far."

Now it was Garak's turn to raise his eyeridges, showing a face of amused irony. "So, that's what we've come to now, Trenn? I show you mine and you show me yours? How gross." Before Trenn could cut in again, he hastened to add, "But I'm far too professional to comment on style, so let's get to it."

***

Starfleet Headquarters, Bajor

On Bajor it was a beautiful, sunny day. Sloan stood in one of the open courtyards, looking at a carefully arranged tableau that consisted of a group of trees and an arrangement of large standing stones. Both groups complemented and contrasted one another, displaying a perfect aesthetic balance. They were beautiful and in their careful placing they were clearly meant to facilitate an equal balance and tranquillity in any observer's mind.

Sloan was waiting for his aide Powell however, and therefore the intended effect was completely lost on him. He felt impatient and nervous, a rare combination for him, rare enough to make him blind to almost everything around him. He was also deep in thought.

For days they had set their captive Bajoran to the task of getting in touch with someone in the Bajoran resistance network. It had been only one day ago that the Bajoran had been successful.

Because of the still volatile situation all over Bajor, Sloan had to delegate almost all of the proceedings to his aide. His own attention was needed elsewhere. He felt slightly uneasy about that, but there wasn't a feasible alternative. In similar situations Powell had proven competent enough to deal with this kind of operation, although the stakes had never been this high before.

To reach his objective to truly pacify Bajor he needed to crush the resistance network. Nalas Jarren, the Bajoran he had brought back from that village in the Keshara District, was his best means to make a start towards that goal. He hoped that once he'd got a foot in the door so to speak he could set a domino-effect in motion that would lead to the crumbling of the whole loosely-knit web of resistance cells.

Such a strategy had worked before when he had to deal with those foaming fanatics that had called themselves the Maquis. That rebel organization had stirred up trouble for far too long. They had grown from being an inconvenience to a serious trouble-maker along the old Federation-Cardassian border. It had been him who'd put an end to its existence. He had done so swiftly, efficiently and terminally and he was aiming for a repeat here.

He had been cautiously optimistic when Powell had informed him that Nalas had finally made contact with the Bajoran resistance. In his transmissions their captive had claimed to have infiltrated Starfleet Headquarters, and that he could work as a mole with access to sensitive data of both Starfleet and the Dominion. The resistance had taken the bait, asking him for certain information, and had finally agreed to a meeting where the hand-over of that information should take place. While the circumstances weren't anything but ideal by Sloan's standards, it was the best they could do with such a tight timeframe.

Powell had told him that he and the Bajoran had managed to lure someone from the resistance down by promising an isolinear rod full of sensitive data about the Dominion's and Starfleet's strategies concerning the Alpha Quadrant. Proving its value and authenticity would be a prerequisite for the meeting taking place, and in Sloan's opinion that was one of the flaws of the plan. In return for the information the Bajoran had asked his contacts within the resistance that they'd take him off Bajor, his reasoning being that his position within the Headquarters was about to get compromised, rendering him useless and putting him in danger of being caught. That should be a second powerful incentive for the resistance to go through with the meeting.

Powell had suggested that he produced the necessary isolinear rod. He would make sure that the data it contained was either freely available or false, he had assured Sloan. There would just be enough relevant data embedded that the preliminary check their contact had insisted upon immediately prior to the meeting would be passed by it.

At first Sloan had refused the plan outright. It was ridiculous and unfeasible and would most certainly blow-up in their faces.

But Powell had also informed Sloan that apart from their Bajoran captive and his alleged membership of the resistance, he had managed to make another contact with a true insider and a possible traitor in one of the Bajoran resistance cells they were trying to crush. He had claimed that traitor to be a Romulan that was willing to blow his cell's cover as long as he was guaranteed free passage out of the sector in return. Moreover that Romulan had declared that he could present them with one of the most influential heads behind the resistance. Powell had claimed that with this two way strategy he had the situation under perfect control.

"Really?" Sloan had said slowly, giving his aide a searching look. "Securing not one, but even two contacts within the resistance - a funny coincidence, don't you think?"

Powell had bobbed his head. "I know what you mean, Sir, but since I don't intend to keep our end of the bargain, there's really nothing to worry about. Getting Nalas' contact and that Romulan in one go will be a real prize."

"And why are you mentioning this Romulan only now? Don't tell me you've been too busy before," Sloan had said, and his voice that had been slow and languid at his last question had turned into a whiplash.

Powell had actually cringed, and what a pathetic sight that had been. "No Sir. I wasn't Sir. I just wanted to make certain I could deliver something of value before speaking up, Sir."

Sloan had let the matter rest at that point, but a lingering uneasiness had stayed since then.

Now Powell was late - again, and Sloan was rapidly losing his patience. He had just sat down on a nearby bench when he heard the soft crunching of feet on the pathway leading up to his position.

Powell came around a corner, his face red with exertion. "I'm sorry, Sir. I was held up by an informer from down-town." He came to an abrupt halt, and dropped down on the bench beside Sloan. Drawing a deep breath, he said, "The trap is now set, Sir. The meeting will take place on one of Bajor's moons. Everything is prepared. By tomorrow evening it will be my pleasure to deliver you one of the heads of the Bajoran resistance." He smiled eagerly.

Sloan gave him a long look. He had a bad feeling about this thing. Acting on gut instinct he said, "Very well, but let's make one change of plan. That isolinear rod you created with my assent? You have it here?

Powell nodded.

"Hand it over."

"But, Sir," Powell sputtered, "the meeting."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll pull it off without that rod, Powell. Get creative, man." He smiled viciously and added, "It's too high a risk to let such data leave our HQ, even if it's properly falsified. And to be frank - I never saw the need for it in the first place." He stretched out his hand.

For a second his aide looked as if he wanted to protest further, but he must have thought better of it. Silently he handed the rod over. _Smart lad_ , Sloan thought, and let it slide into a pocket of his jacket.

With a small bow of his head Powell murmured, "Yes, Sir. With your leave, Sir." At Sloan's nod, he rose and hurried away, no doubt already trying to come up with an alternative to his original plan.

Sloan remained in the garden for a while. He still felt slightly unsettled, having acted on impulse in his decision. He rarely did, but for some incomprehensible reason he was sure that this time he'd done the right thing. From a purely logical standpoint however he might very well have endangered the success of Powell's trap. The resulting feeling was unpleasant. He gazed at the trees and stones trying to decipher what exactly his motivations had been that had led him to act as he had. He stayed in the garden for more than an hour. In the end he gave up in frustration and none the wiser, leaving the trees and stones behind to join a meeting of his department heads that required his presence.


	6. Chapter 6

Dispatch Station 375

Bashir was tired. The day had gone by in a flurry as the Jem'Hadar First had bombarded them with relevant data about the fighters. Later they had been separated when Kira had been snatched away to go on board the second fighter she was ultimately supposed to serve on.

He had felt terribly out of the water the whole time. A lot of the information that he'd been given had gone straight over his head. He had taken a couple of engineering classes at Starfleet Academy, but there were whole areas that were completely out of his expertise.

He was so involved in staying up with the Jem'Hadar's explanations that he felt absolutely unable to give any thought to their immediate goals - getting Pavale on board, and getting away in one of the fighters without getting caught.

Apart from all the new technical information, there was also the unfamiliarity of his surroundings and the complete alienness of the Jem'Hadar that made it difficult to keep his mind on track. He was a doctor and a scientist at heart, and he would have loved to study these people.

It was quite late when Kira showed up again. She seemed to be as tired as he was and they greeted each other quietly. Together they were escorted to their quarters for the night - not as he noted with disappointment on board of one of the fighters but on the station itself.

His mood brightened however when he noticed that there wasn't a guard stationed in front of their quarters. He turned to the Jem'Hadar soldier that had escorted them and asked, "We need to return to our shuttle later. Do we have to call for another escort?" The irritated reaction of the Jem'Hadar made him almost immediately regret his question.

The soldier's face darkened slightly as he snapped at him, "Of course not! You're allies and allowed to move freely around the base," He paused for a second, then conceded, "within reasonable limits." He gave them a clipped nod and in turning he added, "Try not to get lost though."

***

Their quarters turned out to be nothing more than a cubicle that contained two narrow beds and nothing else, not even a single shelf to put some personal belongings on. Behind a narrow side-door they found an approximation of a rest-room, and that was it. The room was bare, nothing broke its sterile starkness. They hadn't done more than a superficial inspection, exchanging resigned looks now and again, when a buzz made them aware that someone was at their door.

Bashir got up from his crouch as he had taken a look under one of the beds and opened the door. It turned out to be Weyoun who stood in the open doorway, looking at them somewhat expectantly. "You must be hungry," he said with a smile that might have been meant to be sympathetic and failed completely, coming across as mostly false with a little bit of smarminess on the side.

Kira's "No" and Bashir's own "Starving, actually," came practically simultaneous, and caused an almost comical double-take by the Vorta.

He and Kira exchanged glances and he thought he could see hidden anger behind the smile she had plastered on.

Weyoun interrupted their silent exchange. "I had considered to invite you to dinner," he said, a little haltingly. Bashir gave Kira a last warning glance then turned to the Vorta. "We would be truly delighted," he said. "And don't mind my colleague, she's a bit moody sometimes. Women, eh?"

Weyoun gave him a polite smile. He clearly had no idea what Bashir was hinting at with his remark. "If you say so, Commander. I'll send someone to pick you up in an hour, then?" And at Bashir's nod he took a step back, turned and left.

***

Bashir pressed the door mechanism again, triggering the door to slide shut. For a moment he stood motionless, hesitant to turn around. He thought he had a very good idea what expression would greet him on Kira's face when he did, and he wasn't too keen for it. He took another moment and was just beginning to get worried because of the continuing silence, when he heard Kira's chuckle.

He turned then and found her carefully scanning the room with a small hand-held device. Where had she gotten that from? Starfleet uniforms didn't leave much room to hide such an object. He looked at her, considering the options, then decided that actually asking her that question might be either slightly too dangerous or could produce information he simply wouldn't want to deal with. He had to spend the night in this room with Kira after all. She mistook his gaze for an attempt to talk and made a hushing motion. She did another wide sweep of the room and obviously satisfied she nodded.

"No listening probes," she said, throwing the device on her bunk. "And thanks by the way."

Now he was seriously perplexed. "Huh? For what?"

"You're right, of course. It was necessary to accept that dinner invitation. It might be an opportunity to gather intel, and it might have looked suspicious to decline." She shook her head, and then she smiled and added, "Good thinking, Bashir."

He felt so pleased and he smiled back at her. "Thank you. I really try, you know?"

"Yes, I do. And I appreciate it."

She sat down on one of the bunks, and patted the surface beside her. "Come here. I think I've found a way to get our hands on one of those fighters. Wanna hear it?"

Now she grinned at him and for a moment he was baffled to see her sitting there. She looked almost like a little girl who was coyly teasing a playmate about some hidden treasure - its location only known to her. His smile grew even wider, and he let himself drop next to her on the bed. Leaning close and assuming a conspiratorially stage whisper he said, "Oh please, enlighten me."

***

Consequently he'd been in an elated mood when they'd arrived at what obviously were Weyoun's quarters. The discussion he'd had with Kira while waiting for their escort to show up had been exciting. She believed she had found a way how to get both Pavale on board and the Jem'Hadar crew off it. The plan was elegant, daring and highly risky. He had made a few objections and had offered a suggestion of his own. She had listened to him, taking him seriously and it had been the first time that he had the feeling that they'd truly connected. Something he almost had given up hope of ever achieving.

To his disappointment most of the dinner proved to be if not a waste of time, then not nearly as informative as he had hoped. The food was surprisingly good, but Weyoun turned out to be a rather tiresome host. He seemed to have developed an almost comical fascination for the Alpha Quadrant in general and the Federation and Starfleet in particular, and was quizzing them on such a wide variety of subjects like customs, languages, arts and what not. They had to milk the excuse of Kira's 'moodiness' more than once to get her out of a tight corner when Weyoun asked her a question about the Federation she was unable to answer.

His second conversation topic was the virtues of the Dominion and its masters, the Founders. He was relentless in his preaching about them and Bashir had to really flex his acting muscles to stay in character and show at least polite consent. He was sure that Kira was faring even worse. The way she gripped her knife and fork, and bowed her head to hide her facial expression more than once was a dead give-away. Fortunately the Vorta didn't seem to notice. He had focused his attention mostly on Bashir who had at some point during their meal managed to introduce Weyoun to the subject of sports.

Earlier he had tried to divert their conversation to other topics - even going so far as to flat out ask Weyoun about his opinion on the ongoing campaign against the Alliance. Weyoun had given him a slightly irritated look, then had given him one of his sermons about the almightiness of the Founders, and how they moved in mysterious ways that weren't always understandable to lesser beings. He - Weyoun - was content to serve.

So they discussed first tennis, then soccer and when Weyoun asked about the stakes for those games, Bashir simply couldn't resist, and told him about the old Mayan ballgame version and its stakes that had been as high as one could imagine.

"So, you sacrificed the losing team?" Weyoun asked, evidently fascinated.

"Occasionally, though some experts believe that it also might have been the winning team that earned the honour of sacrifice."

"Really? And why would they consider it an honour to be sacrificed?"

"Why, Weyoun? Wouldn't you consider it an honour to be sacrificed for _your_ Gods, the Founders?" Bashir asked back archly.

"What?" The Vorta looked truly bewildered, and for a while he fell silent. Finally he said, "I see your point, and of course I would give my life for them. Though the Founders in their wisdom don't ask for such sacrifices too often." He smiled slightly, cocking his head to one side. "But I expect that nowadays you've tamed that sport down, no?"

"Somewhat, yes," Bashir answered, taking a casual sip of his wine, then he fixed Weyoun with a hard stare. "Though it would be an error to interpret the veneer of our civilized times as a true taming. It's not as if Humans have lost their ability to rip each others hearts out, or anyone else's for that matter." He smiled toothily.

Weyoun looked at him with raised eyebrows, and a look of amusement appeared on his face. "My, my, how barbaric." He took an equally casual sip of his wine. "And what an entertaining and delightful meal this has been." He pushed himself away from the table, declaring the meal to be over with the gesture. He rose and Bashir and Kira followed his example. "I hope you'll join me tomorrow once again?"

They smiled and nodded and left. On their way back to their quarters Kira gave Bashir a curious look. "Ripping each others hearts out? Really, Bashir, I'm slowly starting to understand how you caught my former security-chief's attention." She shook her head. "How vicious of you," she teased him.

Before he could come up with a sensible reply, Kira stopped and said, "I'm going to check on that radiation-leak on our shuttle, just to make sure that everything is alright there. I'll see you later." She gave him a meaningful look and headed off towards the hangar deck.

***

Finding her way back to the shuttle bay proved to be more difficult than Kira had thought. For one the corridors were darkened during the station's night, giving them a decidedly different look than during the day. To make things even more difficult, all the signs and symbols that made orientation on a 'normal' space-station easier were missing here. Corridors and doors showed no markings and apart from the map she had seen near the fighter bay no other maps were visible anywhere. _What's so wrong about a map or diagram of the station's layout?_ Kira thought while she trotted through yet another corridor.

Most likely it was a stroke of luck that made her take a couple of arbitrary turns only to find herself in front of the large doors of the shuttle bay. Slowly she walked through them. A Jem'Hadar guard was standing just on the other side of the doors. He turned at her entrance but obviously wasn't too interested in her. It wasn't the same guard that had questioned her and Bashir about their sealed aft-compartment earlier that day. She felt relieved and gave him only a casual nod which he returned, turning away from her again. She was about to continue towards their _Sieve_ when she thought better of it.

"You've checked for radiation, I presume?" she asked him.

He gave her another nod. "The levels are negligible."

"Thank you," she answered. "I'm going to begin our repairs."

This time he only looked at her and she continued towards the shuttle.

When she reached it she first checked for any signs of tampering. There were none. She unsealed the airlock and boarded the shuttle. Inside it was dark and silent and for a moment she stood perfectly still, suddenly nervous without a real reason until the shuttle's automatic illumination kicked in and the interior slowly took shape. She stepped over to the engineering station and pressing a few buttons she activated two protocols. One of them was a simple communication-signal, designed to let Pavale know that she could leave the shuttle's aft, the other would make certain that any routine scan of their shuttle wouldn't detect a second life-form, but only one, distorted by raised radiation levels that interfered with any precise readings.

She hadn't to wait long until the aft-compartment's door slid open and Pavale showed up. Kira had dropped into the pilot's seat and as she looked up, she saw that Pavale had stopped there, leaning against the open doorframe.

"Hey." Kira's greeting was soft and slightly hushed, as if their voices could carry to the shuttle's outside. She knew better of course, but somehow it felt right even if she couldn't say why.

"Please tell me you're here for a good reason and not just to say 'Hello'," Pavale replied and her voice was normal, shattering the illusion of secrecy in danger of being overheard. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Kira shook her head. _Pavale at her best_ , she thought. She was sure that after a day of isolation the woman was relieved to see Kira, but she'd rather shoot herself than admit it.

"I want to move tomorrow."

"Already? So, you have a plan?" Pavale asked, a slight frown appearing on her face.

Kira nodded. "We'll do a classic," she answered. "Sneak in - set up our traps - make a grab for the fighter - and run as fast as we can." As she ticked of their moves, step by step, she saw Pavale's face again take on her trademark mix of irony and amusement.

"And if you tell me that you've worked out the 'how' _and_ that we're going to cause some destruction in the process, then I'm perfectly satisfied."

"Grab a seat, make yourself comfortable and listen," Kira answered smilingly. She knew that her plan wasn't perfect so far, but as the Romulan came over and sat down beside her, she was sure that between her and Pavale they would be able to work everything out.

***

A few hours later they sat in silence - an exhausted but very contented silence. Some time along their discussion they had left their seats and moved to the shuttle's floor. Pavale now leaned back against a control panel, her feet stretched out in front of her. Around her small mounds of open food wrappings lay strewn, making her look like the centre of a small litter storm. She had claimed that for serious scheming she needed sustenance.

Kira lay on the floor in front of her. She had rolled to her side, propping herself up on an elbow, her head comfortably resting on her hand. Sipping from a water bottle she studied the Romulan. She couldn't remember seeing Pavale so lively as she had seen her in the last hours. In organizing and commandeering the repairs of their _Sieve_ she had displayed a relentless and calm professionalism. Kira had formed her opinion of the woman on that. This night it had come quite as a shock to Kira when she realized that under all that calm and cool veneer, Pavale had the heart of a raider - a raider who loved to play with explosives.

She gave the Romulan a speculative look - the slightly dishevelled hair, the litter around her. _Okay, a messy raider, who loves to play with explosives._ She grinned and her expression drew an answering smile from Pavale.

Out of impulse Kira said, "Thank you."

Now Pavale's smile was joined by a questioning expression.

"Don't take this wrong, but in the last days, I've sometimes wondered where you stand. Often you seem so detached, almost as if you're only partially involved in what we're doing."

Even while she spoke, she saw the frown appear on Pavale's face, but she continued nonetheless. This was important. She had waited for this opportunity, for the right moment to voice at least some of her reservations about the other woman's behaviour and underlying motives. A better chance might never come along again.

Once she'd finished silence fell between them - slightly uncomfortable, but mostly thoughtful.

Pavale broke it at last by saying, "I don't trust easily, and I prefer to keep my own mind, but since we're exchanging 'honest views' - I've questioned your competence as a leader. I still do to some extent, and I question the composition of our team. This multi-species approach that has the captain always going so dreamy-eyed about seems like foolishness to me."

Kira tried to keep a neutral face. She was surprised by Pavale's frankness and the seriousness she could see on the other woman's face, but she was also irritated.

Pavale saw it and called her out on it. "Oh, don't give me _that_ look. You asked for it! The captain told me you know what you're doing and generally I trust his judgement. Still, it's good to see for yourself. That's always preferable to relying on someone else's say-so. I concede this latest plotting-session has alleviated many of my doubts concerning you."

"Thanks," Kira answered dryly. Pavale's answer hadn't been a complete surprise, but it  still left her with definite unease. Her disapproval of having different species on their team - that smacked of simple xenophobia - held more merit than was obvious on first sight. After all they weren't a travelling road show for interspecies harmony, they were supposed to be an attack team, that would be embarking on a highly dangerous mission. Its outcome would determine countless lives in their quadrant.

She had thought about this often and long, and had spent hours with Vexel, discussing it. In the end they had agreed that the advantages were greater than the disadvantages. Pavale, Trenn and Garak were all professionals, highly-skilled in many fields. Bashir might be something of a wild card, but as a doctor he was certainly competent, and Garak had been a strong supporter of course. To Kira's surprise he hadn't been the only one though. Vexel had spoken up for the Human, claiming he had a lot of potential, and that his role might become essential in the end. And regardless of what everyone was thinking about their team's composition - it was far too late to make any major changes now.

Snapping fingers in front of her face brought her back out of her thoughts.

"Are you with me?" Pavale asked. Her face suddenly very close as she leaned forward.

Kira flinched, but caught herself immediately. Seeing an opening she sat up abruptly.

"Yes, that's exactly the question, isn't it. And I'll ask you back - are you with me?" She stared at Pavale, hard and unblinking, her message unmistakable. It was a demand for commitment. It was also quite risky. Pavale might very well decide to say no, and where would they stand then?

For a long time Pavale simply stared back, then she gave a nod, short, abrupt and just a little bit awkward. Her expression was suddenly taut, her eyes narrowed slightly as she said, "Yes I am." Only to qualify her assent a second later, by adding, "You shouldn't pull this trick too often though. I don't react well to that kind of pressure."

Slowly Kira shook her head. She let herself sink back, resuming her half-lying relaxed position on the floor. "Once is enough, I know that, and I'm glad." She smiled ruefully and at Pavale's answering if somewhat tentative smile, she felt the tension of the past minutes finally lessen.    

***

Bashir was deep in thought. Their second day on the station had started almost in the same manner as the last had ended. They had been given a frugal breakfast and then were once again separated and taken to their respective fighters. Following the Jem'Hadar that was taking him to his ship, Bashir hadn't given his surroundings much of his attention. Kira had roused him very early in the morning with a rough shake to his arm. He had jerked awake only to find a hand firmly pressed over his mouth. Just for a second panic had risen within him before he recognized her and understood that he wasn't being attacked but only woken.

They had sat together on his bunk, Bashir still struggling with the last remnants of an interrupted sleep and Kira oddly strung-up. He had been perplexed at first, but after a while he had understood. As it turned out, she had spent a large part of the night in their shuttle, discussing and planning with Pavale. The two of them had decided to move fast, to move today. She had described to him exactly what was expected of him.

Giving him a scrutinizing look, she had asked very earnestly, "Can you do that?" and at his nod, she had asked again, "Are you sure? This is important!"

"I am. You can rely on me!" he had answered emphatically.

Following the Jem'Hadar, he watched the soldier's broad back, and slowly he grew more and more anxious, now that he was really left to his own devices.

They would strike at midday. Kira had found out that the crew of her fighter would assemble at that time today for each of the crew to receive a new dose of their ketracel-white. They would actually leave the fighter and assemble in front of it. The First who would get their allotted repository of tubes from the Vorta, would meet them there to hand the single tubes out to everyone of his crew.

How she had discovered this, Bashir had no idea. She had resolutely clammed up about her methods of information-gathering when he had asked. He had felt terribly impressed, remembering how hard he'd found it to keep up with his 'lessons' alone. For her not only to follow those, but to find the time and opportunity to gain further and essential information he couldn't fathom.

At first he had reacted sceptically though. "It seems awfully inconvenient that they all leave their ship for that, don't you think?

"It's a matter of obedience as far as I understand, and yes, it is inconvenient. The Jem'Hadar who told me even went so far as to hint about that fact, but it is a requirement of the Vorta apparently. You know, I would have imagined that you'd know far more about this than you obviously do. I mean, shouldn't you be well informed about the habits and peculiarities of your allies?" she had asked back. He had winced at her last words, and she had amended. "Okay, your former allies. Nonetheless, I would have expected you to be far more knowledgeable." She had looked at him, and he was certain he could see slight suspicion in her features, the way she held her head, the slight tension around her eyes.

"Even before I decided to run, I wasn't exactly trusted. I had voiced my _dissatisfaction_ about the actions of the Dominion and Federation far too loudly and publicly." He stretched the word, hoping to make it clear how much of an understatement the term was. "And apart from that the Dominion has never been very forthcoming with information about themselves, especially when it comes to either the Vorta or the Jem'Hadar."

He had fallen silent and for long seconds afterwards they had sat, wordlessly gauging each others words, their sleeping cubicle shrinking around them to nothing, so focused had they been on one another. Finally, only the very space between them, sitting so very close together on that narrow bunk, had seemed to exist. He so much had wanted her to believe him, to trust him in that moment. He had held himself absolutely still. He might even have held his breath, in retrospect he couldn't tell. He realized at that moment that a very important judgement was to be passed over him. At last her features softened; she had nodded.

"Alright. With all the Jem'Hadar off the ship, what better opportunity could we hope for to steal the thing?" she had said.

Relief had flooded through him and with a smile he had answered, "None I can think of."

***

Now, still staring at the Jem'Hadar's back, he could think of a whole multitude of reasons. So much could go wrong and so much depended on them, it was daunting. He squared his own shoulders, and took a deep breath. _We'll make it, just think positive,_ he told himself firmly _. We're going to return to the Dagger in triumph, and well deserved it will be._ The recognition would be highly welcome. It wasn't as if he'd received it in abundance lately. Yes, that was an alluring picture and he would do anything to see it come to pass.

He fingered the small controller and the communicator in his pockets. The latter would be his life-line and would allow Kira to beam him aboard the fighter once he'd accomplished his tasks, and when the time was right. He was so deep in thought that he almost walked into the Jem'Hadar in front of him when the soldier stopped. They had reached the fighter's open airlock, and its First was waiting there for them.

"Weyoun wants to see you," the First told him by way of greeting, and started to walk across the hangar deck, not waiting for an answer or checking if Bashir would follow.

Obviously he really hadn't a choice in this, and suddenly he felt his pulse racing. Had they found out?  No, if they had, they wouldn't ask for a talk, would they? From what he knew about the Dominion he'd already be arrested without much fuss. The Dominion didn't tend to be subtle in its reactions.

Probably it was just some further information about their blockade duty that Weyoun wanted to discuss, or as likely, he had some more questions about soccer. That idea did a lot to calm Bashir's nerves. In the end Weyoun's summons didn't prove as innocent as he had hoped however.

"Your colleague, Commander Wilkens, is asking a lot of questions - unnecessary questions I might add." Weyoun opened their conversation without a greeting.

The statement sent Bashir's pulse racing again. He tried to keep his outward appearance unaffected. "Asprey? Really?" he asked back, trying to sound slightly puzzled but mainly uninterested, like someone who is presented with a problem that isn't theirs to solve. "She's curious I suppose." He let his gaze wander between Weyoun and the First. The Jem'Hadar looked back at him, his face bare of any expression, but Weyoun's stare was almost comical in its intensity to discern what this Starfleet officer might mean by that. He answered with a somewhat malicious smile, "I believe your people have a saying, 'Curiosity killed the cow?' Please, inform your colleague to use a little more restraint in the future, yes?"

Bashir didn't bother to correct the Vorta. The message was clear enough, and it wasn't a request, it was an order. "As you wish," he replied and just for good measure, he added, "I'm sure Commander Asprey didn't mean any disrespect or disregard for your _privacy_." He stretched the word 'privacy' just enough to make it clear how unimportant he regarded any information that might be gleaned by talking to some Jem'Hadar.

Weyoun wordlessly bowed his head, if in assent or acknowledgement was unclear but Bashir decided to effect an equally silent retreat.

His walk back to the fighter, this time in the wake of the Jem'Hadars First, passed in similar silence. Bashir wondered if he was expected to relay Weyoun's 'request' to Kira immediately. He decided against it. Later it might be a good excuse to leave his fighter if his original plan wouldn't work.

The morning crept along like a dawdling caterpillar on a leaf. He had no idea where that image had come from in his imagination, but it felt so perfect, he came back to it again and again. Time seemed to creep and crawl in agonizing slowness. Obviously it had been decided that he already had all the information the Jem'Hadar deemed necessary for him to perform his function as liaison. He was told to observe the preparations for their departure tomorrow and learn. It left him with a lot of free time to go through their plan, and to worry about all the things that might go wrong. The caterpillar was striped yellow and black he decided, and he yearned for the rush of feathers that would signal its imminent demise.

Finally it was time. His communicator had given off a slight vibration - Kira's signal that he should start to get ready. Addressing the First he said, "I need some food and a break." His heart beat wildly as he did, and it was almost an anticlimax when the First simply nodded, not even looking up. Slowly Bashir walked through the fighter's corridors to the airlock. He had no intention of actually eating something, his objective was to create just the right amount of havoc to ease their escape. Nonetheless he stopped by the small quarters he had been shown this morning and picked up a couple of ration bars and a bottle of water that had been stored there for his use.

Another signal - this time it was Pavale indicating her readiness. He stepped out onto the hangar deck. Casting a long look around, he took in the current situation. Two technicians were working on the hull of Kira's fighter. He didn't know the species, most probably the Dominion had brought them along, when they'd taken over the station. At the far side a lone Jem'Hadar stood guard. No other personnel were present.

He headed towards the hangar deck's portside. There was a large control station that allowed both access to the deck's controls like atmosphere, gravitation and the force field that sealed it off from space, and a variety of heavy machinery that could be used to move cargo around or aid in ships repairs.

The station wasn't manned when it wasn't in use. Only its controls were shut down to prevent accidents, but if done right its manipulation held the potential to cause just the right scale of mayhem they needed. Kira had given him a little triggering-device 'with Pavale's compliments' that would allow her to take control of the station. All he had to do was place it properly. The question was: Would he be allowed to get near the station without drawing any unwanted attention?

He started to unwrap one of his ration bars, Starfleet's standard brand of barely edible, most likely given to the Dominion to make certain that Starfleet's assigned liaison officers wouldn't starve. Wandering casually in the general direction of the control station, he nibbled at the bar and for a moment the familiar taste caused such an intense stab of homesickness, such a sudden yearning to get home, to get back to Earth, it made his throat ache. The feeling came completely unexpectedly, and it made him stop in his tracks. _Get a grip, Julian_ , he chided himself immediately. He definitely hadn't any time for such things now. He shook his head and gritting his teeth hard, he picked up his stroll over the hangar deck again. He glanced over to the Jem'Hadar. The soldier stood motionless. He gave no indication of having noticed anything out of the order.

Another two steps and Bashir had reached the station. He leaned casually against it and picked up his nibbling of the ration bar. The other rations he put behind himself on the station's topside. Turning back he saw the First of Kira's fighter leave the ship. _He's on his way to Weyoun to get the ketracel-white for his crew. Just a little while longer, now._

No more than two or three minutes later he saw the rest of the small fighter-crew assemble in front of the ship. He was relieved to see that Kira remained absent. It meant that she'd succeeded in staying on board. He finished his ration bar, and without taking his gaze off the assembled crew, he leaned back fumbling for another one. Instead he managed to shove them over the topside's edge. They clattered to the ground behind it, and he flinched at his own clumsiness. The Jem'Hadar guard was now looking at him, and he threw a sheepish grin in his direction. Giving a slight jerk of his shoulders by way of an apology, he rounded the station and dived down behind it.

Once out of sight he immediately started to pull at the station's front panel. He knew only vaguely what he was looking for, but Kira had assured him that once he saw the control coupling he'd know instantly that he'd found it. Indeed it proved easier than he'd feared, and connecting Pavale's controller took no more than a second.

Pressing the remaining ration bars to his chest, he jumped to his feet. The guard was looking over at him intently, probably considering coming over and finding out what the clumsy Human was doing. That wouldn't do of course, and Bashir pre-empted him by slowly walking in the Jem'Hadar's direction.

He was starting to sweat now, and it felt as if time was suddenly stretched thin. His hands were getting clammy and he had to grip the ration bars very tightly to prevent them from slipping out of his grasp. He hadn't taken more than a couple of steps when the Jem'Hadars First reappeared, carrying a large container. _That must be the ketracel-white_.  

Bashir had nearly reached the guard. He shifted the rations just so, and with only a very slight tightening of his grasp he produced a veritable cascade of rations topped off with a bouncing water bottle that dropped around the guard's feet. He pressed his communicator, signalling Pavale to begin.

The guard gave him a disdainful look, but as he had hoped the Jem'Hadar bowed down to help in collecting the spilled lunch. He'd just put his plasma rifle down, when a large crane not too far away from them came to life with a wild swerve. Everyone on the deck turned and looked at it. There were puzzled and frowning glances, but only for a very scant moment. It passed, and at once pandemonium broke loose.

Kira had warned him that Pavale would do everything to create as much confusion as possible. It would serve as a way to mask their intentions as long as they could and clearly Pavale was quite thorough in making sure that absolutely every piece of machinery started to move as if activated by invisible hands. Chaos started to reign when suddenly gravity vanished and from one moment to the next everything and everyone started to float. People lost their footing and even the otherwise so-stoic Jem'Hadar flailed around as they attempted to get their movements under control. Crates and portable equipment joined into the dance, and above all there was the sudden roar of the fighter's engines coming to life.

At this point Bashir's only objective was to stay alive, and if possible to increase the chaos. He made a lunge for the Jem'Hadar's rifle as it drifted past him, and actually got a grip on the weapon. However, his movement inadvertently sent him into a fast spinning motion. And if time had seemed to pass so very slowly before it was now speeding up dizzyingly, feathers were rustling in the wind, and the poor caterpillar's death imminent.

Suddenly a knife appeared in front of his face, slashing at him - the Jem'Hadar guard had fared better than himself in controlling his motions, and he was coming at Bashir. The first strike he blocked with the rifle, but the second grazed his forehead, dealing a wound that immediately started to bleed copiously, blurring his vision. He tried to take aim, but the Jem'Hadar seemed to have vanished. He felt panic rise. Why had he grabbed the rifle in the first place? Why hadn't Kira beamed him on board already? He had no time to think about it.

The Jem'Hadar remained missing, but his spin brought some of the fighter's crew into his blurred field of vision. A group of them had managed to fasten themselves to the fighter's hull. It looked like they were in the process of manually opening one of its airlocks. He brought his rifle about when a hand grabbed his ankle, yanking at him, causing him to lose aim again.

Without thinking he kicked back with his other foot. It made contact and the hand let go as he hit the guard square in the face, causing the Jem'Hadar to grunt in pain. Bashir aimed again at the fighter's crew and this time he managed to fire.

He saw lifeless bodies spiralling away from the airlock, and noticed with some satisfaction that he'd actually managed to take almost half of them out. He was just about to push himself back into position for another round of shots when something heavy hit him from behind, pushing him forward and down. He saw the flooring coming towards him much too fast. He crashed into it, then darkness enveloped him.

***

Jem'Hadar fighter

Kira worked frantically. She knew how to operate the transporter; she was sure she knew. It was just a matter of doing just this - she flipped a switch - and then bring up power, and home in on Pavale's signal. Yes! A quick glance up and she saw the shimmering form of the Romulan slowly taking shape.

"Hurry, you know what to do!" she yelled at her, even before her form had completely solidified. But if Pavale hadn't heard the complete sentence, she certainly understood the urgency. Without so much as an acknowledgement she hastened to one of the ship's tactical stations.

Kira turned her attention back to the fighter's immediate vicinity. Her virtual display headset showed her chaos all around them now. The last thing she'd watched had been Bashir casually leaning against the hangar deck's central control station before all her attention had been needed to make certain that the fighter was secure, and Pavale would arrive here in one piece.

Now she saw him lunge for a Jem'Hadar's rifle. She was about to beam him aboard - it wouldn't do if the fool hurt himself in his zeal to prove his worth - when she noticed the group of Jem'Hadar that had clustered around one of her fighter's airlocks, and were in the process of getting it open.

"Pavale!" she yelled, "Get on with it! We need to get out of here fast!" A volley of disruptor shots sent more than half of the Jem'Hadar tumbling. And there was Bashir again, a good portion of his face covered in blood now. Had he hurt himself? No, there was a Jem'Hadar with a knife behind him. Things were happening far too fast. She saw the Jem'Hadar crash into Bashir, sending him plummeting into the deck. She activated the transporter. "Pavale!" she yelled again, spinning around to wait for Bashir to materialize, saw his form shimmer into existence. She'd gotten him, but he seemed to be unconscious or dead.

"Got it," Pavale shouted. She hit a couple of controls then looked up at Kira. "Say farewell to our _Sieve_ , she's going to blow now," and all of the sudden she sounded utterly calm as she said it.

A deafening, roaring, and rumbling thunder almost drowned out her last words, and then the whole station shook - shook like a mortally wounded beast that jerked in the throes of agony.

Kira stared at Pavale in shock. She hadn't expected they'd be able to inflict that much damage by overloading the shuttle's engine core, and by Pavale's expression the engineer was as surprised as she was. She caught herself fast enough though.

"The force-field's down" Pavale said while Kira hastened to the command station to get to the flight-controls. Sending a short prayer to the Prophets she started to pilot the fighter out of the hangar deck.

The take-off would've been a disgrace under any other circumstances, but with everything taken into account she was quite proud that she managed to generally aim for the hangar deck's opening to space. Metal screamed and sparks were flying as their fighter hit the hangar deck's flooring and edge quite hard before it more or less popped out of the fighter bay like a cork out of a bottle.

A push to her shoulder sent her almost sprawling to the deck. Pavale had shoved her away. "Let me," she said, "before you kill us all."

Kira spared her breath and started to scan the surrounding space. She wanted to get a better idea of what had happened to the station. What she saw made her heart flutter. There was a large gaping hole where once the small shuttle deck had been. A chain-reaction of explosions was rippling through the lower parts of the station.

"Pavale, get us away from here!" she yelled. "The station's going to blow!" she added, but it was too late. She ripped the headset from her face as a large ball of intensely white light filled her vision and threatened to burn her retina. She flung herself to the deck, and saw Pavale following her example. The shock wave hit with unbelievable force, and for the next seconds they were flung around wildly as their fighter bucked and whirled uncontrollably.

It felt like an eternity but most likely it was only a matter of seconds before the violent motions stopped at last. Only some flaring but noiseless alarms broke the atmosphere of relative calm afterwards. For a while she simply lay on her back, too dazed to stand up, but she couldn't wait too long. Cautiously she pulled herself up to her feet. She had suffered no serious injuries, and knew how lucky she had been. Pavale was slowly moving, too, a reassuring sight, but Bashir's body had been flung against one of the bridge's walls where he lay motionless. She crouched down beside him, felt for a pulse and found it. She didn't have time to check for more now, but it seemed to be steady and strong enough.

Her first priority had to be to get them out of Dominion controlled space, to get them to safety. Everything else could wait. She looked around the bridge and spotted her headset in a corner. She retrieved it and paused for a second to watch Pavale getting up slowly, grumbling under her breath.

"You alright?" Kira asked, noticing the caution with which Pavale moved.

"Partially fractured rib from the feel of it," Pavale answered through gritted teeth. "Nothing I can't handle." She slowly made her way back to the command station, and leaned against it as she brought the controls back to life.

Kira put her headset back on, and the surrounding space once again filled her vision. There was a lot of debris all around them. The station seemed to be gone completely. She wondered what the Dominion had kept there. For such a violent explosion to occur, there had to be something held in store on the station - most likely some kind of weapon or weapons material. Now it was gone as well as the station itself. Fortunately she couldn't see any Dominion ships in their vicinity. She checked the fighter's sensors that confirmed her visual estimate.

"We're clear for now," she said. "The station's gone, and I can't detect any activity within sensor range. Even the patrol ships are gone."

"Acknowledged, I'm setting a course for our rendezvous coordinates," Pavale responded. "How's our Human?"

"He'll live." Again she looked over at Bashir.

"Good, I fear he's slowly growing on me, even if his over-eagerness to please is still irritating," Pavale said gruffly, and Kira had to smile. There was a certain truth in Pavale's words. He'd been a true asset on their mission and she had much more respect for him now than she had granted him before, not to speak of the accompanying trust.

***

During the next couple of hours they divided the necessary tasks between them. Piloting the fighter, checking the ship's systems for damage, and seeing to Bashir's head injury kept them busy for the rest of the day.

They'd found some covers to make him a bit more comfortable, and they'd dressed the head wound. The cut hadn't been too deep, but Kira had discovered a large swelling at the side of his head. Still, nothing seemed to be broken. _Another one who's been lucky_ , she thought. Since they hadn't anything like a medkit, every necessary treatment would've to wait until they'd rendezvoused with the _Dagger_.

Bashir's waking up turned out to be unexpectedly funny. For some arcane reason, the unconscious Human must've sparked some hidden soft streak within Pavale. Kira didn't understand it, but she saw no reason to question it. Maybe it had been there all the time, she wondered, but Pavale hadn't dared to express it. Now however, Pavale went over to him every once in a while, checking his pulse and fussing over him in some way or other. That alone Kira found highly amusing, but she wisely kept silent about it. Pavale was just checking for any signs of fever, or so she claimed, her palm resting against Bashir's forehead, when the Human finally woke up. Opening his eyes, he gave Pavale a slightly befuddled smile. "Hello Tinkerbell," he said, and grasping her hand brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her fingertips.

Pavale stared at him, caught in the act, and obviously speechless for a second before she huffed indignantly. Nonetheless she was quite gentle in pulling her hand back. With a slight wince, her hand pressed firmly to her side, she got to her feet and after a quick glance at Kira she declared that the engines needed her presence and left the two of them alone on the bridge.

"How do you feel?" Kira asked him.

Bashir looked up to her. "To be honest, a bit woozy. My head's really killing me. It feels like I've been hit with a sledgehammer." He raised himself on his elbows, and looked around with a disorientated expression. "What happened?"

"You collided with the hangar deck. We escaped. We're in possession of a functional if slightly singed Jem'Hadar fighter now, and, oh, the station blew up, quite spectacularly actually." She grinned at him. "Why don't you try to sleep a bit more?" she asked, and when he first nodded then winced, and lay down again, she added "Good work, by the way."

The next hours whenever she looked over to him, she would see him fast asleep - a most silly smile on his face, but she liked the expression nonetheless.


	7. Chapter 7

_The Dagger_

Garak was doing a last pre-flight check of their ship. After a long discussion he and Trenn had finally settled on a small Bajoran shuttle as their transport. It would take them to their meeting with their two moles in Starfleet Headquarters. Their destination was Jeraddo, Bajor's fifth moon. The location held the advantage that in contrast to Bajor itself there wasn't a tightly knit planetary defence net to consider. They were sure that they'd be able to slip in and slip out without getting caught. Their shuttle held no firepower whatsoever, but it had been in the _Dagger's_ shuttle-bay for years. It had been used for many clandestine planet-runs to Bajor, and Pavale had worked on it frequently, making it an ideal ship for the in-and-out job they were planning. It was fast and it had Romulan cloaking technology.

While he was going through the shuttle's systems and finding them all in perfect working order, he was also slowly getting angry. Trenn was late, and he wondered what might have held the normally so-punctual Romulan up. He was just about to hail him, when he saw Trenn entering the hangar deck, hastening across it, and boarding the shuttle. Garak turned, a sarcastic comment already on the tip of his tongue, but on seeing Trenn's troubled look when he came to the front of the shuttle, Garak kept it to himself.

"What's wrong?" he asked instead.

Trenn only shook his head. "Nothing." His face turned stony.

The lie was obvious, but Garak knew that look far too well. During the last weeks he'd grown tired of seeing it very fast. He knew there would be no chance to get anything out of Trenn now. With a resigned shrug he turned back to his controls. "Whatever you say, just as long as that 'nothing' doesn't interfere with our immediate objective."

Trenn didn't answer, but moved wordlessly to the co-pilot's seat. He opened a hailing frequency, "Trenn to Vexel, we're ready to leave."

"Clearance granted." Captain Vexel's voice was short-clipped and harsh as it came over the intercom.

It gave Garak pause. The captain had sounded quite unlike himself. _First Trenn, now Vexel_ , he thought, _this is getting worrisome_. For a split second he considered if he should refuse to take-off until someone told him what was going on, but he didn't. He couldn't risk endangering the meeting, couldn't risk endangering their moles - or at least one of them, and lastly they needed the data. There simply wasn't time for an argument.

With an impatient flick of his wrist Garak brought the shuttle's engines to life. He manoeuvred them out of the _Dagger's_ hangar deck, and pushing the engines to full throttle he got them on their way.

***

It would take them almost six hours to reach Jeraddo and since there was really nothing else to do, he tried to bait Trenn for a while, but the Romulan remained stubbornly unresponsive.

Resigning himself to a situation he couldn't change, Garak turned to contemplating their rather convoluted plan. Their ultimate goal was to get the necessary navigational data they'd need to reach the Founders homeworld. To accomplish that they had come up with a two-fold strategy, relying on not one but two very different moles in Starfleet Headquarters on Bajor.

They had managed to get a Bajoran inside - and a Bajoran he trusted no less. That had happened quite recently, and he had been thrilled when he had heard about Jarren's success. _Prym would be quite proud of him_ , Garak had thought with uncharacteristic nostalgia. Nalas Prym had been his Second on Terok Nor, half a lifetime ago when he had been responsible for the station's security. They'd lost the lively Bajoran woman with the station's destruction as she had decided to stay behind with Damar to cover the evacuation and manually initiate the self-destruct. Jarren was Prym's kid-brother and it had been one of her first and last contributions to their clandestine plans to bring him into the fold.

Jarren hadn't been the one to actually get the information they needed however. His role had been to play the visible middleman, the outside face and plausible negotiator with the Bajoran resistance. It had been his part to relay the _Dagger's_ request for information about the Dominion in general and the Founders in particular as a request made by the resistance. He was a gift for Starfleet and Director Sloan, Starfleet's Head of Planetary Security. He was someone they could believe in as a turncoat.

Their second mole was a Human, a long-time contact of Trenn, and it had been Trenn who had assured Garak that this contact would be able to get the information they needed out of Starfleet Headquarters.

Their upcoming meeting would be a trap within a trap. If everything went as planned they would take out the forces meant to capture them, take Jarren and Trenn's contact on board and be on their way back to the _Dagger._ All of it shouldn't take longer than an hour he estimated.

Having reached this rather satisfying conclusion his thoughts inevitably turned to Bashir. Lately that happened regularly and a bit too often for his own liking. The evening before Bashir had left with Kira and Pavale immediately came to his mind. He couldn't remember ever suffering through anything equally awkward in years as that last encounter. Taking the Human to his bed had seemed like the logical culmination to that delightful dance of verbal sparring they'd performed ever since their first meeting. And what a catastrophe that culmination had turned out to be.

_Serves you right_ , he thought somewhat bitterly. _It's as dangerous to dabble with alien and exotic ideas as it is to play with those aliens themselves._ His own father had warned him more than once that his 'liberal and esoteric' tastes might be his downfall one day. Of course, his quasi-exile had different and far more serious reasons, but still, he really should be more careful. Yet he wanted this, there was absolutely no doubt or hesitation in his mind by now. At some point in the past days he had decided that he simply didn't care about his own motives - wether they be a wish to reward himself (most likely self-deceit), loneliness (true), boredom (somewhat true) and a whole conglomerate of other reasons. One of them was irrefutably the sheer fascination of someone so alien in some respects and in others so alike himself (very true but somewhat unnerving).

"Don't tell me, you're actually _day-dreaming_."

Trenn's acerbic voice startled him out of his musings. He didn't deign to answer, but simply leaned forward and checked his instruments again. They were approaching Jeraddo now, and their proximity alarms would have warned them in less than a minute. He turned them off, and they watched in silence as their cloaked shuttle passed through the moon's sparse sensor net like a ghost - invisible and unnoticed.

They had set up the meeting in one of Jeraddo's large underground cave-systems. Trenn had explained to Garak that he knew them inside out, had in fact told him a story about how he and Captain Vexel had set up a clandestine meeting there more than ten years ago. Back then they had met a fiery red-headed leader of a Bajoran resistance cell named Kira Nerys. Trenn had looked almost wistful in his remembrance before hastily catching himself.

Their meeting today would be even more important, Garak knew. Hopefully it would be the beginning of the end for the Dominion in the Alpha Quadrant and possibly beyond.

They entered orbit, and Trenn scanned the moon's surface. "I can't detect any life-forms on the surface - a good sign, since the cave system blocks any signals from underground. It means that the direct surface is clear. There isn't any other vessel in orbit either, so that part of our meeting arrangements has been upheld to the letter, too. It's time to call them and proceed with the validation of the isolinear rod. Why don't you check on our gear while I take care of that?"

For a second Garak hesitated, but then he nodded. The proof of validity was of no real consequence, so why should he insist on taking part in it?

"It's almost time to beam down, don't dawdle," he said. He got up and moved to the small transporter unit in the shuttle's aft that would take them down to the moon's surface. Checking his phaser, the tricorder and the pressure grenades they had agreed upon as their most effective means to take out any accompanying forces, he waited for Trenn to join him.

***

It was night on the surface when they beamed down. Bajor was a fat sickle in the night's sky, illuminating their surroundings more brightly than he had expected. They were in a small forest clearing with the entrance of the cave-system gaping to their right like a large maw ready to swallow them. The air was warm, and the only thing they could hear was a soft whirring, most likely produced by some night-active insects.

They exchanged a quick glance before they started to move cautiously towards the cave. Trenn took over the lead with Garak just one step behind him, his eyes darting back and forth between the looming cave entrance and his tricorder's display.

"No signs yet," he said. "Are you sure this will work?"

Trenn nodded. "It's a special modification, a Bajoran design to function on Jeraddo specifically. I know it will work just as much as I know that Starfleet tricorders won't. It's the unique rock composition here that prevents any normal scans for life forms. It's one of the reasons why we chose this location."

The cave proved to be of the dry and dusty variety. Garak was grateful for that. Dry and dusty was infinitely better than wet and cold. Of course it was far too dark for his liking, but that obstacle he could take care of quite easily. He pulled his night vision goggles over his eyes, and the caves sprang to greenly lit and shimmering life, presenting their contours, caverns and tunnels quite clearly now.

The minutes ticked by as they slowly made their way through a secession of small caverns until Trenn stopped him with a raised hand placed against Garak's chest. For a moment they both stood stock-still and Garak wondered what they were waiting for. His tricorder was still not showing any life-signs, and since Trenn had told him that it should pick up anything within a radius of at least a hundred metres they couldn't have reached their destination yet.

Suddenly Trenn was very close and Garak almost jerked back, not sure if he should expect an attack. The Romulan's behaviour was confusing and Garak's right hand instinctively had gone for his phaser.

Then there was Trenn's soft voice at his ear. "It's only a small force, no more than a dozen. I can sense their presence," he said softly.

Garak did nothing to hide his surprise. "And I always thought only true Vulcans were able to perform that trick."

"Shows you how much you really know," Trenn answered. He motioned Garak to follow him.

They crept forward even more slowly now, and it didn't take them more than a few steps until Garak's tricorder woke to silent and blinking life, registering indeed twelve life-forms. He showed its display to Trenn. Six of the life-forms were positioned in the middle of a large cavern ahead while the other six were hidden in what looked like a side-tunnel, branching off from the main cavern.

It was a perfect place to spring a trap on anyone who was heading towards the centre of the cavern where the first group was situated. It was also a perfect location to bring their grenades into play. Again they crept forward, this time leaving the straight path towards the cavern, circumventing it so they would reach the far end of the side-tunnel. It brought them up behind that second group of support troops. According to the tricorder they were now no more than thirty metres away from them. Just two turns around a corner, and they would be on top of them if that were what they intended to do.

Silently Garak handed his tricorder over to Trenn. He unhooked the two grenades from his belt, and after another quick glance at Trenn who was slowly drawing his phaser, Garak moved forward alone. He would throw the grenades as soon as he had taken a look at the group, a necessary precaution to make certain that none of their two moles was with that group. He would withdraw as fast as possible, with Trenn providing cover should there be any survivors.

He was reaching the last curve, and holding his breath he pressed himself to the tunnel's wall, only moving his head far enough forward so he could spy around the edge. There they were, all six of them, no more than a handful of metres away now, all of them clad in Starfleet combat gear. There wasn't a Bajoran or a Starfleet officer among them. Carefully he drew his head back. He slowly breathed out, drew another breath in, and primed the grenades to a delay of only two seconds. It would leave those troops no time to react, and him just enough time to drop to the ground and cover his head. It would be more than enough he decided. There was no reason for giving Trenn the opportunity for any heroics. The Romulan was already far too self-assured and insufferably conceited in his opinion.   

Taking both grenades in one hand, keeping their switches pressed, he swung his arm back. The wall at his back didn't give him much room to gather force, but there wasn't that much distance to cover. He threw, releasing the switches, and instantly flung himself to the tunnel's ground, bringing his arms up and over his head to protect his face and his ears.

The initial explosion was a sharp and thunderous crack followed by an echoing boom that came practically simultaneously. It was deafening, causing a sharp pain in his ears, making his bones resonate with the noise. There were no screams, just a wall of dust and rock splinters that rolled over him while the tunnel roof emitted suspiciously loud creaking sounds.

It couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds later when he felt hands grab his arms still slung over his head. It was Trenn who pulled him to his feet. His face showed a satisfied, grim smile. "Perfect. All taken out, though you shouldn't have timed it so close, you fool," he said. Now they could both hear the first shouts coming from the main cavern. The other group would be alarmed now, and it would be up to Trenn's contact and Jarren to get rid of them.

Trenn jerked his head, and they ran in the direction of the noise. There were a couple of shouts and phaser fire before silence reigned once again. When they reached the main cavern they saw only two people standing in its centre with a couple of fallen bodies around them.

They moved closer, and now Garak could see that it was indeed Jarren and a Human in a regular Starfleet uniform at his side. Both their moles were alive.

"Now what?" the Human yelled slightly breathless when they were still a good distance away.

"Now we leave," Garak answered when he and Trenn reached the two men. He gave Jarren an acknowledging nod and was a bit surprised when Jarren didn't respond to it, but looked at him silently. It was a look of uneasiness, maybe even a look of warning that Garak couldn't understand.

He ignored it as he stretched out his hand towards the Human. "The rod?" he asked, and it was with a sinking feeling that he saw the Human's gaze flicker towards Trenn at his side.

"I couldn't bring it with me," the Human said. It's still in the base. Sloan has it."

Something in Garak's mind clicked into place then. Trenn's disturbed expression came to his mind's eye. The Romulan had known of this and the bastard hadn't told him. Most likely the _Dagger's_ captain had known, too. Their coming here had been useless.

He turned towards Trenn, furious, and wanting to confront him on his idiotic behaviour. He didn't manage to utter a single word however. Trenn had not only turned towards him, too, but he had his phaser aimed at Garak now.

"Sorry," the Romulan said. "There's been a change of plan." He fired.

_I should have throttled him anyway_ , was Garak's last thought before blackness closed in on him. He didn't feel it as his body hit the ground with a dull thud.


	8. Chapter 8

The _Dagger_

Their arrival on the _Dagger_ was anything but the triumph that Bashir had envisioned. At first, however, it seemed quite satisfactory in its own way.

It took them some hectic manoeuvring, but they managed to get their fighter safely into the _Dagger's_ hangar deck. No one commented on the couple of bumps as Pavale tried to land it. Instead there was some wild cheering to be heard over the intercom as the fighter came to a screeching halt at last.

When they left the ship, they were greeted by the captain and Trenn, and though he couldn't say what it was something immediately struck him as wrong. Before Bashir could lay a finger on it however, Kira beat him to it by asking, "Where's Garak?"

The captain and Trenn exchanged a quick glance. It was Vexel who answered, "There's been a complication." He raised a hand before anyone could ask further questions. "We move this to the conference room. I'll explain there."

Their walk through the _Dagger's_ corridors resembled something of a procession, Bashir thought. Two or three attempts by Vexel to talk about their successful theft were met with stony silence by Kira. They had refrained from any transmissions prior to the rendezvous as a safety measure, and he seemed really curious about the circumstances of their success. He quickly realized, however, how unwanted his inquiries were right now, and fell as silent as the rest of them.

One after the other they filed into the conference room and sat down. Bashir noticed that by some unconscious decision they resumed the exact same seating positions they had taken almost three weeks before, during that very first meeting when they had sat together to start discussing their plans - with the obvious exception that there was now an empty place in their midst.

After they'd settled down there was a slight pause before the captain spoke, and as Bashir looked around he studied each face of their small group. Vexel himself looked slightly troubled but mostly calm while Trenn's face was completely unreadable. Pavale on the other hand looked mostly curious, for once her prevailing air of slight boredom she so often assumed during meetings completely absent. Kira, on his left, was clearly agitated, and to his surprise he noticed her clenched fists. She'd pulled them into her lap, keeping them out of sight under the table. She was angry, suspicious maybe? Of what? It made his own anxiousness rise even more, and he turned back to Vexel.

"There's been a complication in our procurement of the Dominion data we need. As a result Garak is now being held at Starfleet Headquarters on Bajor," the captain said slowly.

There was dead silence for a second, Bashir bit his lip to stop himself from blurting out. This was a catastrophe. How could that have happened?

Kira's "How?" cut through the silence like a whiplash. She kept her anger tightly controlled, but it was very visible now - in her tight lips, the clenched fists that had come up and rested on the table. She hadn't directed her question at Vexel, but at Trenn. Nonetheless it was the captain who answered.

"Trenn's contact failed in getting the data out in time. It was important, however, to let the meeting to hand-over the data take place. Otherwise there would've been a serious risk of him losing his foothold within Starfleet. He couldn't risk failure, and he needed more time. As a result it was agreed to allow for a controlled capture. Garak was the most logical choice."

"I see, and who agreed on this strategy?"

It was Trenn that answered, "Me and my contact."

"Not Garak?"

"What do you think?" Trenn asked, and his tone made it clear how stupid he considered the question.

Kira sighed. "He'll most probably kill you, you know that, Trenn?" she finally said, and without waiting for an answer to that particular question, she continued, "So, how do we get the data and Garak out, now?"

"Wait a minute," Bashir interjected. "That's it?" He pointed an accusatory finger at Trenn. "He sold Garak out, and all you have to say is 'Well, be it on your head, and now let's get on with business'?" Her matter-of-fact way of dealing with such an act of betrayal angered him.

Before Kira could answer, Pavale cut in, "Yes, Bashir, that's exactly what we'll do now." She leaned forward towards him, capturing his gaze. "I know Trenn. I've known him for years. I'm sure he's already come up with a plan. He always does."

Bashir stared at Pavale then at Trenn again. He very much wanted to believe her, but Trenn - the man had proven to be ice-cold. He simply couldn't be trusted. His mistrust must've been written on his face quite clearly, because Kira joined in, saying, "Come now, Bashir. We'll get your Cardassian back for you." At which point she actually started to giggle - and it was such an unexpected sound, a behaviour he'd never expected from her, especially at such dire circumstances. It got worse when within a second Pavale joined her. How could these two act so inappropriately in such a serious situation?

He exchanged an aggravated look with the captain and, though reluctantly, with Trenn, too. _Women, no sense for decorum sometimes._ He didn't have to say it out loud. One look told him how much the three of them were in agreement about this matter at least.

***

Starfleet Headquarters, Bajor

Sloan looked at Powell with exasperation. "You lost the whole contingent? How in hell's name could _that_ happen?"

Powell visibly cringed. "It was a trap, sir."

"A trap. And what about your own trap? What about that fool-proof plan of yours? What about that reliable contact you claimed to have? That Romulan traitor?"

"He's dead, sir. But apart from the regrettable loss of men, we did manage to capture that resistance leader I told you about, and if you don't mind me saying so, you're in for a surprise there, sir." Powell gave a hesitant smile at that. "I've put him and Nalas in a cell together. I thought it might get them talking, but so far they've kept silent."

Sloan studied his aide for a moment. The loss of almost a dozen men was no trifle, but obviously Powell seemed to believe that his new captive might even the score to his favour. He considered demanding the information about that captive immediately, but he didn't. He'd let himself be surprised, he decided. _And it'll better be a pleasant surprise, my little rat, or I'll finally lose my patience and skin you alive_ , he thought. He nodded and Powell actually sagged in relief.

"May I suggest that you take a look at him now, sir?" Powell asked and for once there was pure  deference in his voice, not even a hint of his sometime-insolence or sarcasm.

"Very well," Sloan said. He rose from his chair and they left heading down to the Headquarters underground level where the holding cells were situated.

***

During their short walk, Powell remained utterly silent, only giving Sloan a quick glance from time to time. The man was really nervous.

The sight that greeted them upon entering the holding cell area proved to be a surprise indeed. At present there was only one cell in use. Its two occupants were sitting on the two narrow bunks the cell held - as far away from each other as the limited space of their cell would allow.

One was the young Bajoran, Nalas Jarren - no surprise there. But the other man actually gave Sloan pause. He was a Cardassian and that he _definitely_ hadn't expected. What was a Cardassian doing in the Bajoran resistance? Sure, nowadays both Bajor and the Cardassian Union belonged to that rag-tag Alliance that was giving them so much grief, but that had always been a pact of necessity. The idea that both species might have drawn close enough to work together on this level - a level that required a lot of trust and close interaction - was disquieting.

He stepped closer to the cell's force-field, Powell following him. Ignoring Nalas, he concentrated his scrutiny on the Cardassian. He wore non-descript dark clothing, a lot of it covered with a reddish dust. He looked middle-aged, it was always hard to tell with alien species, and to his considerable chagrin Sloan had never gotten the hang of it. There was an air of fatigue surrounding the man. Sloan liked that look. It led him to a first tentative assessment that maybe, just maybe, they might have made exactly the right capture.

_This might be easy_ , he thought with an equal amount of pleasure and disappointment.

It was exactly when he'd come to this conclusion, that the Cardassian's head turned towards him, and he was met by a look of such intense and irreconcilable hatred as he'd rarely seen. Any sign of fatigue was blown away as if it had been nothing more than an illusion.

_And maybe not so easy_ , his inner voice told him ironically. He gave his aide a questioning look.

"Elim Garak, former agent of the Obsidian Order, Son of Enabran Tain, Head of that Order, at last stationed on Terok Nor as Head of Security, declared dead after the destruction of Terok Nor," Powell said, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

Now the Cardassian came to life, getting up from his bunk, he came forward to the force-field, moving as close to it as possible without actually brushing against it, facing Sloan. The unspoken challenge was clear. It caused his aide to take a step back, even though the Cardassian hadn't spared him a single glance since their entrance.

_But definitely worth your while_ , Sloan's inner voice once again commented. He smiled.

***

The _Dagger_

"This sitting around and waiting is driving me insane. I wish we could do something, anything to end this."

Kira had lost count how often she'd heard that particular phrase from Bashir in the last hours. "That amount of blood-thirst you're displaying is getting worrisome you know?" she answered. While she could understand his impatience, the consequences of what would happen once they set out to get their people and the data out of Starfleet's clutches bothered her.

Though no one had actually said it, Trenn's decision to practically hand Garak over to Starfleet as a distraction, had been ill-advised to put it mildly. His rationalization that it would give his contact time to find another way to smuggle that data out of Starfleet Headquarters seemed flimsy at best.

The suspicion that he had simply chosen the opportunity to get rid of someone he'd considered as a hindrance in pursuing his own agenda - whatever that might be - had hung in the air, unspoken but clearly understood by everyone. He hadn't helped his cause by stating that freeing Garak might not be as essential as getting the data.

When Pavale had asked, what that would mean for Trenn's contact, Trenn had only replied, "He knew the risks involved from the beginning."

But to be fair, Trenn had assured them that he was indeed developing a plan to get all of their people _and_ the data out. It would take some time to set it into motion, but it had a real chance of success. So far he hadn't told them any details, but in all likelihood it would also mean bloodshed, its victims mostly Bajorans, hence Kira's reluctance.

They were on the _Scarab_ now. Bashir had given their fighter its name when there had been a heated discussion about it on the first day after their arrival. Pavale had been disqualified immediately and unanimously. She'd been responsible for the naming of the late _Sieve,_ andall her recommendations had been equally unflattering. Kira and Trenn had opted for a name to fit its purpose, though they'd soon gotten lost in a discussion about Romulan and Bajoran virtues and proper naming conventions for starships.

Bashir had ended their discussion by stating, "She's the _Scarab_." At their nonplussed looks, he'd explained, "She looks like a squatty beetle, but if she finds her path through the skies she'll have the power of transformation, of bringing a better future, right?" And that had been it, the name had stuck. Kira and the others hadn't understood most of his explanations about some ancient Earth culture, but when he told them that a Scarab spent most of his time rolling a ball of shit around, Kira and Pavale had instantly agreed to the appropriateness of the name. Trenn had only rolled his eyes and gone away, claiming he had more important matters to take care of.

The ship hadn't suffered too much damage in the Dispatch Station's explosion, but there was a lot of work to be done nonetheless. They needed cloaking, they needed a ship with systems at peak efficiency or as close to that as they could manage. They needed provisions for themselves and a whole lot of other tiny details needed to be taken care of.

Pavale was pushing them. Had they been somewhat startled by her relentlessness in repairing the _Sieve_ , they now discovered her as being absolutely merciless concerning the fitting and repairs of the _Scarab_. The good thing was, she was keeping Bashir occupied. Moreover she'd seemed to have won his trust. He believed her when she assured him of Trenn's proficiency in dealing with the mess he himself had caused.

Trenn had left them this morning. He'd told them he'd have to take care of a couple of things on Bajor. He had claimed that everything was progressing as it should, but refused to tell them any further details.

Pavale had announced that she planned to finish the installation of the Romulan cloaking device today, and there was an air of anticipation present that had seized everyone. Kira was at the _Scarab's_ command station with Bashir hovering behind her while Pavale had naturally taken over engineering. They were concentrating on their displays and read-outs. Should the tests prove successful, they intended to take the _Scarab_ out for a first test flight. Up to this point, she had remained safely hidden away inside the cloaked _Dagger's_ hangar deck. With her own cloaking installed, they would be able to take her out on her own.

"Bring it online, Soval," Pavale instructed one of her technicians that were in the _Scarab's_ engine room. "Powering it up now," a male voice answered over the intercom.

"Perfect. It looks stable. Keep it like that." She looked up from her station's displays. With a satisfied smile, she announced, "We have a fully operational cloak now." She grinned.

"I'm impressed," Kira told her, and she really was. "I hadn't expected that you'd be able to fit it in so fast, and without so few problems. Looking over her shoulder at Bashir, she asked, "Wanna go for a ride?"

Bashir smiled back. "With two such lovely and competent ladies? It'd be my pleasure," he answered.

But before they could set their plans into motion, Captain Vexel's voice, coming from the bridge's entrance, stopped them.

"I fear that has to wait. Right now, I need you and Bashir in the conference room." He glanced over at Pavale. "Good work, Belle," he told her.

Kira didn't quite understand how or why, but Vexel had taken an instant liking to Bashir's nickname for his engineer. While Bashir himself seldom dared to use it, Vexel had dropped half of it and Pavale had become Belle. To Kira's surprise Pavale had even accepted it with good grace.

Now, however, she reacted with open resentment to her captain's request. "I need them both for the test-flight. Can't you find anyone else to conference with? I think we've had enough talking for a while."

Vexel only gave her a long look, and she quickly acquiesced. Grudgingly she said to Kira and Bashir just as they were leaving the bridge, "I expect the two of you back as soon as you're finished," Her head went down, hiding her face as she busied herself at her station.

***

In the conference room Vexel motioned Kira and Bashir over to a portable communications-terminal that had been set up on the conference table. Sitting down in front of it, he motioned them to take seats on either side of him. At present the terminal's viewscreen was blank.

"I'm expecting a very important call in a couple of minutes. I want you both to be present though I'd prefer it if you'd keep silent during the discussion. It's possible that things might get a bit heated." He paused. "No, not heated, let's say, emphatic. Yes, that sounds better. Don't let that intimidate you. Understood?"

They both nodded and Kira wondered who it might be that was about to talk to Vexel. She suspected it would be one of his more mysterious contacts. She knew that he'd been doing a lot of string-pulling in the background, but so far he had never talked about it. He had neither allowed anyone but Trenn to listen in on his 'special transmissions', and she wondered why he was doing it now.

It had been his associates that had delivered the necessary data on their identities to use while on the Dominion's Dispatch Station. The same associates had obviously taken out the original Starfleet personnel. She knew that he had other contacts, on Romulus for instance - of that she was sure - but also on Vulcan, and some of them reached up very high.

A soft beep announced an incoming transmission and brought her out of her musings. Vexel pressed a small sensor-field and the screen slowly came to life. The transmission was obviously scrambled. It required Vexel to input quite a number of pass codes and make various adjustments to the terminal's settings until a stable connection was established.

At first it didn't show much but a sparsely furnished room, and the backrest of a chair that obviously stood in front of another communications-terminal. The room gave absolutely no indication as to its whereabouts, showing just a set of undecorated walls behind and to the sides. A soft rustling sound could be heard. Then someone stepped in front of the terminal and sat down. It was an old Romulan, Kira realized when a sharp intake of breath from Bashir distracted her for a moment. She looked over to him, and saw a look of surprise and something akin to awe on his face. She also noticed that Vexel had put a hand on Bashir's arm as if warning him to stay silent.

The Romulan spoke, his voice was dark and gravelly, "Hello, my friend." He looked at Kira and Bashir, one after the other. "And associates," he added, raising an eyebrow in a gesture that might have been amusement.

"Hello to you, too," Vexel replied. "I hope you are well?"

"Moderately, times permitting. You?"

"The same." A pause, then Vexel said, "It's time to come to a decision."

"You still want to go through with it?"

"I see no alternative. Do you?"

Silence fell.

The conversation so far was decidedly odd, and Kira kept wondering how much she was missing. This Romulan Vexel was talking to must be someone who held considerable power, that much was clear. Yet, it puzzled her that Bashir seemed to know him. It certainly wasn't the Romulan Praetor, but why should Bashir know anyone else in the political hierarchy of the Romulan Star Empire? So far he hadn't come across as the type who particular cared about such things. Maybe Garak had told him something? No, she decided. That seemed unlikely. Bashir had _recognized_ the man.

"I don't," the Romulan answered solemnly.

"We've secured a means of transportation," Vexel told him, clearly referring to the _Scarab._ Kira was glad they were now getting to more practical matters - matters that concerned her directly.

"We're not ready yet, but it won't be long now. What we'll need is the necessary support and fire-power to get us through when we're prepared to leave. The threat of secession is troubling me. It could interfere."

"Secession is a possibility, but it won't come to pass tomorrow," the Romulan answered. "For now this situation is still safely handled on the diplomatic field. If I were to make an estimate I'd presume at least a month before anything definite is decided. That is unless any unforeseen events or complications come to pass."

Vexel chuckled softly. "Unforeseen events seem to be quite common these days, as well as complications." He glanced at Kira. "Losing Bajor and the Nor Stations was a definite blow. It will hasten the dissolution of the Alliance. That reminds me - I'm sending you some data we recorded when a Dominion Dispatch Station exploded some time ago. The volatility of the explosion, and the complete destruction hint at something having been stored there with an energy-potential that is quite alarming. Maybe you can get someone to look into it." He paused. "But to get back to our immediate plans, even if it is a back up only, how many ships have you managed to recruit for our purposes?"

"Three, one galaxy-class, two nebula-class - they should be more than sufficient to allow for any further complications that might arise."

Now Kira felt completely baffled and it made her nervous. They were talking of Starfleet ship-classes. A Romulan who could command Starfleet ships? That sounded preposterous. Suddenly she felt Vexel's hand on her knee, stilling her movements. With some embarrassment she realized she must have started to fidget without noticing it. But this conversation was just so strange and getting stranger still. She couldn't wait to ask some questions.

Turning back to the screen Vexel nodded. "Three ships aren't bad. That, of course, brings us to the most difficult part. Our means to an end."

The Romulan's face instantly turned expressionless. "I can't, I won't help you there," he stated categorically.

"Then all of this is in vain," Vexel replied, and his tone of voice made Kira's hairs rise. This was it. This was immensely important, even if she had no idea what the two men were talking about.

"Our decision stands."

"Our? What about yours? And if you walk this path with us as far as you've agreed to, how can you abandon us when it counts the most?" Vexel now pleaded.

When the Romulan remained silent, the captain went on, "Isn't this a true instance where the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few? And though I be damned by others for my actions, choosing no action would certainly damn me in light of my own conscience. I beseech you to reconsider, my friend."

Again silence fell, and it was a heavy silence now until Bashir's voice broke into it, slightly trembling and so very young, "Please, Sir."

Kira saw Vexel's hand tightening as it lay on Bashir's arm, but he didn't say anything.

The old Romulan remained silent, too. He had given Bashir a sharp glance at his words. He sat very erect now and completely still, but behind his eyes Kira believed she could see an internal battle being fought.

At last he said, "You're playing unfair." He cast quick glances at Kira and Bashir before focusing his attention once again on Vexel. "But your reasoning isn't without merit. I'll do as you ask. I will consider this - again." His last word made it very clear that this argument must've gone on for quite some time between the two of them.

"You will call?" Vexel asked.

"I will." Without any good-bye the transmission was cut.

Turning to Vexel and Bashir, Kira managed one deep breath, then she couldn't keep her questions at bay any longer. "What was that all about, Vexel? she asked. "And more importantly - who in the name of the Prophets was _that_?"

Vexel smiled, but before he could answer Bashir beat him to it.

"That, Kira," he said, "was Ambassador Spock," and he grinned madly.

***

Starfleet Headquarters, Bajor

It hurt - Garak felt cold, he felt dizzy, and the bright lights of the cell caused him to close his eyes to slits - but above all it hurt. He knew he hadn't been here long, two days perhaps, or three? He wasn't sure, but the situation had escalated in a way he hadn't expected. No one had expected it, but that didn't hold any consolation for him, now.

At first things had seemed straightforward enough. When he regained consciousness he found himself lying on a dusty ground, his hands shackled in front of him. He was still in the cave on Jeraddo, he realized, and there was soft, but angry whispering behind his back. He couldn't make out what was being said, but he recognized both Jarren's voice and the voice of the Human.

He was still considering to stay unconscious for a while longer, to see if he could learn anything worthwhile, when he felt a hand on his arm.

"He's awake," the Human's voice said. "Come, help me get him up, will you?"

It took some manoeuvring, Garak being not too cooperative in the proceedings, but finally he stood in front of them. "Well?" he snapped.

"Oh come now, don't give me that look," the Human had said. "Though on second sight, keep it. It's just the perfect 'Cardie-glowering' you'd expect from a captured high-ranking member of the resistance. You'll just have to play along for a while," he had gone on, "I need some time to get at that data rod. And you, my friend, will be the perfect gift for Sloan to keep him occupied. I've already taken steps to secure our rescue but without the data all this would've been useless."

"Where's Trenn?" Garak asked.

The Human grinned. "What do you think?" he asked back.

_Most probably he went straight back to the Dagger_ , Garak thought. _Too much of a coward to stay around._ He snorted derisively, but didn't comment.

"What's the plan?" he asked again.

The Human slowly shook his head. "No, I think it's best to keep you in the dark there. I'm sure you understand." Then, as an afterthought he added, "I'm Lieutenant Powell, by the way, Director Sloan's aide."

Garak didn't reply. He could understand the reasoning, but it did nothing to alleviate his fears about what might come. For a second he considered an attack, but he was more than unsure if Jarren would come to his aid. So he had given in - there hadn't been any real alternative.

***

Meeting Sloan had been no big surprise, though he had to bite his tongue to prevent the scoff from escaping when he first noticed the other man's choice of clothing. Black leather? No true professional would make such an extravagant and impractical choice. Such a pain in cleaning compared to more modern fabrics. But Sloan seemed to be someone who worked by different standards. He was of slight build and, as they stood facing each other with just the cell's force-field between them, almost a hand's breadth shorter than Garak who wasn't a giant himself.

But what Sloan's almost diminutive stature was lacking, he more than made up with an air of cold and calculating intelligence that Garak had seen expressed in a set of pale blue eyes that disconcertingly mirrored his own.

_This man is dangerous_ , he had thought.

Far too soon for his own liking he found his first estimate proven right. After having spent a few very uncommunicative hours together in their cell, Jarren had been taken away, presumably to another cell block. Not too long afterwards the security guard who'd been watching his holding cell area had left, too. He was instantly suspicious that something was afoot, for a guard to simply leave without asking or waiting for any replacement seemed inconceivable.

Only for a brief moment he hoped that Powell might have arranged it though he couldn't come up with a good reason for doing so. After all the Human couldn't be that fast in coming up with a way to escape.

His hope died when he saw a group of Bajorans enter the holding cell area. They had ropes in their hands, and there was an air of insecurity and barely controlled aggression surrounding them that made him fear the worst. Sitting on his bunk he looked at them silently as they stood in front of his cell, whispering amongst themselves until one of them spoke up.

"You're a traitor. Your people have betrayed our Alliance," he said, his voice low at first, but quickly gaining force and speed.

It was futile, of course, but Garak simply had to answer. "I haven't," he said calmly.

It was a mistake, he'd known it before he spoke, and he really should have known better. As if the flood-gates of years of hate and resentment had been opened the whole group started to shout accusations at him. They also started to knot those ropes they had brought, a process he eyed with rising alarm. _With all the occasionally questionable things I've done in my life, why am I always punished for those I'm innocent of?_ There lay some grim irony in the thought. _A pity I'm in no mood to appreciate it._ He slowly rose to his feet as they deactivated the force-field.

They dragged him out of his cell and his last clear thought was that at least they weren't out to cause any crippling injuries. Later he might even be thankful for that.

***

The _Scarab_

"No!" Kira yelled at the top of her lungs. She had her hands pressed to her hips, mostly to prevent them from shaking out of sheer fury. "No," she repeated for good measure. "It's not acceptable to leave them behind, neither Garak nor Nalas Jarren, and if you ever make a similar suggestion again, I'm most certainly going to do something you'll seriously regret, so stuff it Trenn!"

Bashir and herself had been on their way to the _Scarab_ when Trenn had unexpectedly joined them. They hadn't seen him for quite some time, but had done nothing more than exchange a brief greeting. Pavale had ushered them on board impatiently, and for a while all their concentration had been focused on getting their fighter out of the hangar deck without bumping into anything. Their first test-flight on the day before had been only partially successful with the _Scarab's_ cloak failing twice albeit only briefly.

The _Dagger_ had extended its own cloaking perimeter to keep them hidden from prying eyes before they'd activated their own. They had manned their stations just as they were planning to do when they would eventually leave for the Gamma Quadrant: Kira at command, Pavale at engineering (of course), Bashir at communications and Trenn at tactical. Pavale had activated their own cloak, and they'd started their second round of tests. An hour passed during which they checked all ships functions, familiarized themselves with their stations and made some pleasant and a few startling revelations as they discovered how exactly their _Scarab_ functioned and what she could and couldn't do.

At last they had decided to take a break. For a while they had talked idly with Kira and Bashir casually leaning against their stations and Pavale carelessly sitting on top of hers even, claiming for it to be perfectly safe and of course she'd locked down the controls beforehand. The atmosphere had been almost comfortable and Kira had noticed the development in her team's interaction with approval.

Trenn had chosen exactly that moment to remark that even if they should fail to retrieve Garak and the others, if they were only able to get the data itself, their crew wouldn't be seriously lacking. _He's doing it on purpose,_ Kira had thought, just before she stepped away from her station and towards Trenn to rip his head off.

Trenn reacted with icy calm. "I've considered all feasible options. There isn't a clandestine way to get all three of them out," he retorted.

"No, Trenn, not good enough, you caused this mess, you'll solve it. Garak trusted you, at least enough so you could successfully deceive him."

Trenn didn't so much as blink in response to her accusation, before he replied, "Maybe there's some problem with your hearing? I said there is no feasible way! None that doesn't involve too high a price."

"Oh?" It was Pavale who cut in, and to Kira's surprise and satisfaction she did so on Kira's behalf not Trenn's. "And what price are you so unwilling to pay, Soren?" she asked, and Kira noticed how she'd changed to the use of Trenn's first name, making this a personal dispute.

"The only way to get our people out of there would be during an all out attack on Starfleet Headquarters itself, Narya," he grated out, addressing her in kind.

Kira scoffed. "We're talking about a rescue, Trenn, not a deliberate massacre. Besides, the Bajoran resistance would never agree to such a ludicrous plan. The loss of life would be uncountable, not to speak of any possible retaliation. Can't you be serious--?"

"The resistance has already agreed," Trenn cut her short. "I've offered them some air support."

The following silence was as thick as the Hasparat the _Dagger's_ cook was still trying to poison them with. It was also equally unpleasant.

"It will work!" Trenn declared, throwing a challenging look at Pavale and Bashir before he looked at Kira again.

_He's set me up for this. He's set_ all of us _up for this_. She glanced at Pavale and saw the same realization mirrored on the other woman's face. _The bastard has set us up for good. The question is, can we pull this off? And, oh Prophets, how many Bajorans are going to die for this?_ The implications were frightening.

"Fine," she said, "this stops right here. First we're going to complete this test-flight. Once we return to the _Dagger_ we're going to discuss this in earnest, but not before this test flight is finished and not without Vexel."

For once no one had any comments to make.

***

Starfleet Headquarters, Bajor

It was the soft whirring of a medical tricorder that woke him. Opening his eyes, Garak saw a human woman leaning over him, studying her tricorder's readouts. Powell and a security guard were standing outside the cell, watching her attentively. "Nothing life threatening," the woman said, turning to the two of them "mostly cuts and bruises, a couple of haematomas, but there are no internal injuries and nothing is broken. Nonetheless I would feel better if I could take him to my infirmary. He's pretty dehydrated, too, so I'd advise giving him some fluids soon." She stepped out of the cell. "And this was an ambush by some crazy Bajorans you say?" she asked.

Powell nodded. "A most unfortunate breach in security," he said. "And regrettably we need his statement immediately, so bringing him to the infirmary is out of the question."

She gave him a doubtful look. "Well, if you say so."

"Yes, thank you, Doctor," Powell replied warmly, giving her a wide smile. "Don't worry, we're going to take good care of him," he added.

She allowed him to lead her out of the cell area with only the slightest hesitation. Powell returned at once and came over to Garak's cell again. "Come on, rise and shine. Director Sloan wishes to see you," he told Garak showing him the same wide smile he'd used on the doctor.

Slowly Garak pulled himself up on his bunk, and almost immediately he felt nausea set in. It was a welcome if uncomfortable sign that his implant was doing its job. The nausea was a side-effect of the technology. Its deliberate flooding of his body with endorphins produced an overload with too many conflicting carrier-signals from pain to pleasure with his nervous-system in the middle of it, trying to deal with all of them. He swallowed repeatedly to suppress the gagging-reflex it caused.

"Come on, we don't have all day," Powell said, stepping into the cell and pulling him up and forward so he could shackle his hands again. Having done that, he pushed Garak out of his cell where two guards had taken up position, obviously assigned to escort them and prevent any attempts of escape.

Garak gave Powell a glowering look. Clandestine ally or not, right now he simply wanted to punch the man for that sarcastic smile he wore. Powell clearly guessed his thoughts because he chuckled, and giving him another slight push propelled him towards the door that led to the corridor.

Though Garak normally prided himself on a very good sense of orientation, he quickly lost his bearings as Powell deftly manoeuvred him through what felt like a true labyrinth of corridors and up a progression of flights of stairs until they entered an office and he found himself dumped into a chair in front of a large desk.

He looked around and saw Sloan standing at a nearby window, his back to the room. The office itself was beautiful. Small but airy and filled with the late afternoon sunlight it was sparsely furnished in typical Bajoran style - simple and elegant. Sloan in his black leather - _this is really getting old_ , Garak mused - was sticking out like a sore spot.

Sloan turned around to him, and the smile he gave Garak was downright sunny, as sunny as the room, but far more deceptive. He came over to the desk and took the seat behind it. Putting his hands behind his neck, he stretched himself languidly and gave Garak a long and scrutinizing look. He looked utterly relaxed as he slouched slightly down. Obviously satisfied with his show he snapped his fingers in Powell's direction, saying, "Get us something to drink Powell."

_This show is fast getting tiresome_ , Garak thought. Sloan lacked style, and he was overdoing it in his opinion, and with his current head-ache he had no patience for such amateurish displays. Nonetheless he stayed silent. He wasn't here to teach or to fight, only to buy Powell some time to get that damn data.

He watched as Sloan's aide walked over to a nearby sideboard and picking up a carafe slowly filled two glasses though with what Garak wasn't able to see. Sloan gave him a sympathetic look and went on, "My dear Mr. Garak. I really must apologize for that abysmal accident with those Bajorans. Between you and me, it's so hard these days to find reliable cleaning personnel, you have to cut them some slack occasionally. After all it's not as if they hadn't good reason for that moderate display of dissatisfaction, wouldn't you say?"

Garak didn't answer. There was no use in reacting to such an obvious bait. Powell came over to them, placing two glasses on the desk in front of each of them.

"That will be all, Powell," Sloan dismissed him, making a shooing gesture. "Why don't you go and visit our Mr. Nalas for the time being?"

Powell reacted with a somewhat indignant look, but did as he was told without commenting.

After Powell was gone, Sloan picked up his glass. "Where was I? Ah, yes, that unfortunate incident with our facility-management. Well, I've heard that they're still a bit disgruntled about the Cardassian occupation. How long did it last? Almost forty years, right?"

Garak still remained silent.

Sloan stared at the contents of his glass, then as if he'd just had noticed that Garak so far had ignored his, he said, "Oh, please, don't be shy. I'm sure you're quite thirsty. Here have a glass." Leaning forward, he slowly pushed the second glass in Garak's direction. "It might please you to hear that it's actually one of the benefits we managed to reap from that occupation of yours. Can you believe it? We've discovered almost a dozen of crates of the finest Kanar in this monastery's cellars. It makes one wonder about those Vedeks, hmm?"

Garak sighed, but obediently picked up his glass, having to use both his shackled hands to get a good grip. It was indeed Kanar, and from the smell of it a very good year. It was also the absolute wrong thing to drink in his current state of dehydration - quite possibly it was also laced with something.

Nonetheless he took the tiniest of sips, then put the glass down carefully before he leaned back again. "A good year," he announced.

Sloan had watched him intently as he drank. Now the director smiled knowingly. Putting his own glass down, he said, and now his voice sounded quite matter-of-fact, "Oh, yes, a very good year, 2366 to be exact. It was the year the Federation and the Dominion signed their very first treaty, the year we started to build a better future for the whole Alpha Quadrant."

"I say _that's_ debatable," Garak answered. Sloan's crude poking around, and his attempts at being clever were starting to seriously grate on his nerves. Though there was nothing to be gained by getting into a dispute with Sloan, he simply couldn't let those words stand unchallenged.

"Yes, and it seems you're not only willing to question our wisdom, but to resort to acts of cowardly terrorism. How shameful."

"Terrorism?" Garak echoed. "We're simply defending our homes and our way of life."

"Then, pray tell me, why you're so desperate to get your hands on data about the Dominion," Sloan's voice was suddenly very harsh.

_Great Gul, the man is so predictable._ "Why?" he asked, once again echoing Sloan's words. "Isn't it the Federation that places such great value in learning about other people and other cultures? We're just striving to emulate your example by trying to learn more about those fascinating new friends you've so open-heartedly invited to our quadrant," Garak answered mockingly, and while Sloan's voice had been as sharp as a knife cut from the finest jevonite, he kept his own voice equally mellow. _Now choke on your own high-morale propaganda,_ he thought.

A long silence followed before Sloan commented, and now his voice was nearly as gentle as Garak's had been. "How nicely put. Why don't you take another sip? All this talking must make you quite thirsty, I imagine."

_Bastard,_ Garak thought, but only shook his head in a gesture of polite refusal. He was terribly thirsty. The last time he'd drunk anything had been on the transport shuttle that had brought them from Jeraddo to Ilvia, but drinking more of the syrupy and highly potent beverage Sloan was offering him would only worsen his condition.

Sloan smiled even wider in response. "Well, I think we should take a break in our discussion for now. You're obviously not in full possession of your conversational skills at the moment, and I have a meeting coming up." He leaned forward over his desk. "I warn you, though, I expect a bit more later. Oh, and while we'll do our very best to ensure your safety down in that holding cell area, I have to recommend that you keep an eye open. I've heard a strange rumour that, apart from our unruly cleaning crew, there seems to be a rather irate Vorta on the loose. Apparently someone has blown up one of the Dominion's Dispatch Stations, and that Vorta is quite keen to have a long 'heart-to-heart' with anyone who might be able to tell him something about it. That wouldn't be you by any chance?"

"I'm afraid not," Garak replied with another shake of his head. "I've never even been _near_ any Dominion Stations in my life. Though it sounds like there might be a fascinating story to be told about it."

He wasn't expecting any particular reaction from Sloan at this point and wasn't surprised when none came. The man just gave him a thoughtful look, then he pressed a switch on a control panel on his desk which caused Garak's escort to reappear.

Clearly the interrogation was over - at least for the time being.

***

The _Dagger_

"I can't believe we're actually going to do this," Kira said. They sat in the _Dagger's_ conference room once again - a fact that had caused a lot of eye-rolling on Pavale's part. Trenn had taken them step by step through his plan to attack Starfleet Headquarters and in the process to effect a rescue of their people being held there.

"The plan is risky but it's the best we've got," Captain Vexel commented with a frown on his face. "Though I'm still not convinced that the _Scarab's_ involvement is a wise idea. It feels too much like showing one's hand at poker before it's necessary to do so."

"What's poker?" Pavale asked, frowning.

"An Earth game, very Un-Romulan. The most successful liar, wins." It was Trenn who supplied the explanation. "Hmm, now that I think about it, could be Cardassian, too." He smiled sarcastically. His face fell, though, when he realized that everyone ignored his comment.

_I'd really like to know why he's so antagonistic towards Garak_ , Kira wondered not for the first time. Romulans were famous for their strong tendencies towards xenophobia, but Trenn's slurs were aimed at Garak specifically. Even if he often masked them as insults against Cardassians in general.

"Revealing that we have a Jem'Hadar fighter equipped with Romulan cloaking technology this early seems like a waste," the captain repeated.

"Maybe we shouldn't use the cloak then," Bashir put in.

When everyone looked at him like he was mad he added, "You'll have to de-cloak for raising shields or firing anyway."

"He has a point," Kira said. "But there's the slight problem of getting our fighter even _near_ Bajor without a cloak. Its planetary defence net will detect us far too soon without cloaking."

Bashir frowned. "And what if we'd go in as a tandem? The _Dagger_ could provide cloaking for both ships, and before entering the atmosphere our _Scarab_ could break away and go into a dive. Would that work?" he asked.

This time his question drew a round of rather thoughtful looks.

"It's equally risky," Vexel cautioned, though Kira couldn't help but suspect him of favouritism for his precious _Dagger_ that so suddenly had been pulled into a far more dangerous role than he obviously would have liked. "We can't be sure that the _Dagger's_ cloak will be strong enough for both ships," he added.

"Give me a couple of hours to work on the _Dagger's_ cloaking system," Pavale threw in, "and then I can guarantee it. I already have some ideas how to get the necessary power-boost." She smiled confidently, then she added, "I have another question. Why don't we switch completely to the _Dagger_ instead of the _Scarab_?"

"Because the _Scarab's_ transporters will work even if we can't take out the Headquarters shields. The Dominion's technology allows to beam right through them. It's a peerless advantage and we can't give it up in these circumstances, but since it relies on proximity we need to get into the atmosphere before we beam anyone up or down."

For a moment Vexel seemed to consider if he should refuse the idea of the _Dagger's_ involvement nonetheless. Kira saw him look at Trenn. She suspected it was the younger Romulan's nod of encouragement that finally made him agree. Amongst them it seemed to be Bashir who was the most surprised that his proposal had been accepted.

Having dealt with the ship-problem they moved on to the next one. Once they were inside the Headquarters, they had to locate their people and get them out alive. Unfortunately there were a lot of unknown factors they simply couldn't predict in advance. For a while the discussion ebbed and flowed, without them reaching any satisfying conclusion.

Finally Trenn pushed a small holo-projector to the middle of the conference table. Activating it with some flourish, he said, "Why don't we take a look at the Headquarters layout? I'm sure that'll be helpful in devising the best plan of action."

His words were greeted by various sounds ranging from exasperation to outright anger, that caused him to smirk. "Don't let it be said, I hadn't seen to the best preparation for this fool's run."

Now planning began in earnest.

***

Later that day Captain Vexel called Kira back to the conference room. She was surprised to see Bashir already there. "What's up? she asked once the door had closed behind her.

"There'll be a change in our plans," the captain answered. "I believe that Trenn's reasoning is sound in assuming that he alone might have the best chance to get inside the Headquarters holding areas without getting caught. Nonetheless, I do believe that Bashir should accompany him. No one questions his motivation in rescuing Garak and the others, and with him being human _and_ wearing a Starfleet uniform he should be able to hide in plain sight."

Vexel didn't mention the somewhat lacking motivation that Trenn had shown in rescuing Garak - or even his own contact lately. He didn't need to. It was clear to them all, that this change of plans stemmed at least in part from the captains (and possibly Bashir's) worry what might happen if Garak and Trenn were left alone in each other's company and to their own devices inside Starfleet Headquarters.

"I think that is a good idea," she answered cautiously, "though it will only postpone our problem with these two, not solve it."

"No, but the middle of an ongoing attack isn't the right place to clear the air. That must wait until later."

Vexel looked at them. Changing the subject he added, "My friend has called again. He has finally agreed to lend us his support not only in getting to the Gamma Quadrant, but also in finding a way to deal with the Founders. I had almost given up hope, but now I believe that once again we stand a real chance. Just make sure that you all return safely tomorrow."

***

Starfleet Headquarters, Bajor

Sloan was delighted at the day's prospects, strictly on a professional basis, of course, but still he was delighted. His first interviews with the Cardassian yesterday had been mostly a formality. Today he planned to dig a bit deeper. Ex-Obsidian Order operative or not, the man had gone without water for more than three days now and Sloan had arranged for another 'visit' by those helpful Bajoran workers last night. Sloan was confident that they were the perfect tool to speed up his captive's eventual breakdown.

He was in his office, and had spent the early morning with the more or less menial tasks his position brought with it. Now it was time to have another talk with Mr. Garak. He had sent Powell to fetch the Cardassian, and while he waited he contemplated his best strategy how to _convince_ his captive that giving in, divulging the information Sloan wanted, was really the best solution for everyone.

A slight knock on the door told him that Powell had returned. How uncharacteristic for him to knock he thought, and told them to come in. It took him just one look at the Cardassian though to understand Powell's unusual apprehensiveness.

Mr. Garak looked far better than yesterday. Sloan didn't ask. He didn't need to. Powell's voice sounded quite small as he said, "Doctor Lang showed some surprising initiative, sir. She paid our guest a surprise visit this morning, and discovering him to be somewhat the worse for wear, she transferred him to the infirmary." He cast a furtive look at Sloan, then returned to that vacant stare of an officer reporting a terrible mess-up that was at least partly his responsibility. "She hadn't deemed it necessary to inform me of that transfer, so I only learned of it when I discovered Mr. Garak's cell to be empty some minutes ago."

Sloan was furious. He didn't let it show naturally, but he felt sorely tempted to do something unkind, if to that infuriatingly smiling Cardassian or his fool of a aide, he really didn't care. Sitting very still he tried to get a grip on his emotions. Finally he said, "Very well, I think it's time that Mr. Garak makes the acquaintance of our visiting Vorta. His methods might be a bit crude, but he produces results I've been told - and he produces them fast. Try to impress upon our visitor, though, that there are certain limitations to what he can or can't do, will you, Powell?" He gave a friendly nod to Garak, and turning his attention to some paperwork on his desk, he ignored the two men until they had left his office.


	9. Chapter 9

The _Scarab_

It had taken them days to prepare; now they were down to hours. Once again they had manned their stations on the _Scarab's_ bridge. Standing at the central command station Kira looked around herself. They all wore non-descript combat gear, all that is with the exception of Bashir who once again had donned his Starfleet command red. He even had acquired a genuine Starfleet phaser from somewhere.

_If we're not careful, he might overdue this acting business someday_. It was an amusing idea, but she couldn't smile. She felt strained. So much depended on the success of the next hours. "Belle?" she asked.

"The _Dagger's_ cloak is holding up perfectly. We're as invisible as a breeze of air."

"How poetic," Trenn replied. "Our weapon's are ready."

"Communication silence is upheld," Bashir chimed in. Standing at communications he had donned the _Scarab's_ second headset, and he was studying the data it displayed avidly as they approached Bajor.

***

Starfleet Headquarters, Bajor

This was turning gruesome, and it was turning gruesome very fast. Powell had taken him back to his cell, and the furtive glances the Human had cast in his direction as they'd silently walked through the Headquarters corridors hadn't boded well for his upcoming meeting with that Vorta Sloan had mentioned.

He hadn't that much personal experience with the species. He knew that two of them had been captured by the Cardassian military in the last years. They hadn't proven too resilient under enforced interrogation, but what had impressed their interrogators had been their ceaseless loyalty to the Founders and the Dominion. The fact that it was a characteristic that had been genetically built into their species had lessened the respect towards them somewhat. Still it was a mindset that every Cardassian could relate to.

He also remembered that there existed very few reports of Cardassians who had survived captivity by the Dominion. They'd described the Vorta as zealots in pursuing their objectives. They tended to be ruthless and efficient, not hindered by any form of ethical belief-system or a sense of honour. Their only blatant weakness being their lack of imagination.

The last point he had noticed with interest and a very personal feeling of insult. It didn't speak well of the Founders' state of mind. For who with the power of creating a whole species would create it without the power of imagination? It seemed like such a waste to him. He had pondered this and other bits of knowledge he could remember about the Vorta, and though he had no way to determine how much time had actually passed, it seemed like half an eternity until the Vorta finally showed up.

He came across as one of those oily creatures that made you wish for the opportunity to wash yourself after having to deal with them. He introduced himself as Weyoun. "I am the seventh actually. My predecessor has suffered a very sudden demise only a couple of days ago. In fact, I've been sent here to investigate his death, as well as the destruction of one of our Dispatch Stations."

And that was another aspect of the Vorta Garak remembered now. They were all clones and the Founders had created them in actual production-lines, to be used and discarded as their masters pleased.

"I think, we can deactivate the force-field," Weyoun told the guard present. "And I'd like to have a chair, please. This might take a while," he said with a smile that sent Garak's heart-rate climbing.

He came out of his cell, and it was mostly out of grim determination to fight for every single step in the upcoming battle that he replied. "You might ask me anything you like, but I've never met any of your predecessors or know anything about that station you've lost."

The guard returned with a chair and Weyoun placed it slightly off the holding area's centre and sat down. Garak stood in front of him, trying feverishly to predict what would happen next, when Weyoun pulled a small device out of a breast-pocket of his suit. He held it up for Garak's inspection. Ignoring Garak's earlier statement he asked, "Do you know what this is?"

Garak shook his head.

"It's a device to manipulate that cranial implant you have there." Weyoun lightly tapped against his own temple.

Garak felt ice-cold fear shoot through him as he took a closer look at the thing. _How could they know? Could it be possible?_

Weyoun chuckled. "I've taken the liberty of studying the file Starfleet has on you. You're not the first operative of the Obsidian Order the Dominion has to deal with - such a silly name really, don't you think? Yes, you're not the first operative we have to deal with and we've made some progress since the first one."

Strangely enough it stung. Hearing the Obsidian Order being called silly - it felt wrong, it felt intolerable. In most other circumstances it would also have been highly dangerous to apply such a term to the Order in his presence, but here he was helpless and it churned.

"You're far too quiet," Weyoun suddenly said, and he pressed a button on the device he held.

It felt like someone had driven a lance of fire through Garak's brain. His knees buckled and he gasped in shock. He fell forward, catching his weight and breaking the fall only as his hands hit the floor.

Looking up, he rasped, his voice suddenly hoarse, "I have nothing to say to you."

It provoked another press of the button and a world of pain descended upon him.

***

The _Scarab_

It was the first time that she would truly command the _Scarab_ in a battle. Again Kira looked around herself, observing Pavale, Bashir and Trenn at their stations. With the _Scarab_ hidden within the _Dagger's_ cloak and piloted in tandem with the Interceptor, she had just the time to do so.

"We'll be reaching Bajor's atmosphere in one minute," Pavale announced. "Time left until we have to pull out of the _Dagger's_ cloaking shadow, forty-five seconds."

"We've received the 'ready-signal' from Ilvia," Bashir joined in.

"Planetary defence net still not responding to our presence," Trenn once again completed their trichord.

They all looked at Kira standing in the bridge's centre, waiting to take over the _Scarab's_ piloting from her command station.

"Thirty seconds," Pavale said.

"Missiles ready," Trenn stated, his head bowed over his station.

"Give the signal to begin the attack," Kira said to Bashir.

"Twenty seconds." Pavale again.

"Attack signal has been acknowledged," Bashir said.

"Fire missiles."

"Missiles away," Trenn answered.

"Ten seconds." Pavale, steady as if she was counting flower-petals instead of seconds remaining.

"Everyone brace yourself." This time Kira's voice revealed her tension.

Her hands flew over her station's controls. Her gaze locked with Pavale's.

The engineer looked back at her smiling, and said only one word, her voice a caress for everyone present, "Dive."

***

_We must be a spectacular sight_ , Bashir thought, as their fighter plummeted through Bajor's atmosphere, going down as fast as was possible without tearing itself to pieces. _Like a firefly, streaking across the sky_. Within seconds first Ilvia then the Headquarters came into view. The guard towers, still under construction, had been one of the prime targets for the _Scarab's_ torpedoes. All four of them were burning now. The very first target had been the energy generator. Only a smoking hole in the ground spoke of its existence now. With the generator gone, every shield and force-field in and around the buildings should be gone, too, leaving them open and vulnerable. Their attack had obviously come as a complete surprise.

Concentrating on his headset's display, he could see Bajorans already within the Headquarters grounds. That was important since the risk for counter-strikes from the air was at its highest as long as the Bajorans were still outside the Headquarters perimeter fence and in the city proper.

So far no air support, neither by Starfleet nor the Dominion had shown up. He was just about to comment on it, when he felt a sharp tug at his arm. Trenn stood before him. "It's time to get down," he said urgently.

Bashir dropped his headset. He had been so caught up in their actions he'd completely forgotten his own upcoming part for a moment. He followed Trenn to the transporter. They had just taken their positions when Pavale announced, "Shields down. Ready for transport."

Kira looked over to them, and her "Good luck!" was the last thing he heard before the bridge of the _Scarab_ slowly vanished, only to be replaced by a smoke-filled corridor.

***

Starfleet Headquarters, Bajor

The ground Garak was lying on was shaking. He couldn't understand the significance, but the ground beneath him was definitely shaking and with it the pain had lessened - not vanished, no, not by far, but lessened enough that he actually felt able to try raising his head and open his eyes.

He was greeted by the picture of Weyoun staring at the ceiling as if he expected something to break through it at any minute. The guard was gone, possibly searching for the source of the shaking. "What do you know of this?" Weyoun asked. When Garak didn't answer immediately, the Vorta pressed the button again. Garak couldn't help but scream. Now a new feeling joined the helplessness and despair - a mad anger raced through him. What answer should he have given? He didn't know the cause of the shaking, couldn't comprehend it any better than his torturer. It was the sheer injustice of the Vorta's presumption that struck him, and the feeling gained in force as Weyoun granted him another respite.

The Vorta asked again, and this time Garak chose only to whisper and, Great Gul, the fool actually came over to him and leaned down to better catch Garak's words.

He shouldn't have had the strength, but maybe his reflexes made all the difference or maybe Kira's Prophets meant well. Whatever it was, it allowed him to blindly grab a neck and pull - a turn, a tumble, and a twist and the silent and sickening cracking sound of a breaking vertebra. Death came instantly, and even if he might deem it too easy a death later, for now he was simply relieved. For a while he was content just to lie there on the ground. It wasn't shaking anymore, but from above him sounds of battle could be heard now.

"Day-dreaming again?"

It took him no more than a split-second to remember who had asked him that question before. That voice, he hated it as much as he despised the man it belonged to. It was the same condescending tone of voice he had heard during the shuttle flight to Jeraddo, and the hate that welled up inside him was so strong it was dizzying.

He pressed his eyes tightly shut, feeling too weak to deal with this new threat. He jerked in sudden fear, his eyes flying open when an arm encircled his shoulders while a hand touched his forehead, only to see Bashir, Bashir of all people, a look of worry and relief on his face.

"We heard you," he said. "Can you walk?"

"I'll try," Garak answered hoarsely, his own resurging relief almost drowning everything else.

***

Pulling Garak to his feet, Bashir made certain the Cardassian could stand and walk without support. By now, there was chaos and panic reigning in the building. Slowly they began their journey back to the higher levels.

There was fighting everywhere, and so much smoke that made it even more difficult to discern friend or foe. People were screaming and dying all around them. Twice some Starfleet security officers tried to stop them, but Bashir and Trenn took them out quickly. With Bashir leading, everyone was just long enough puzzled by his uniform for Trenn to fire the first shots, and both times it didn't take more than those first ones.

Early on they were joined by a Bajoran who emerged from a neighbouring cell area just as they were heading towards the flight of stairs that would take them to the ground level again. The Bajoran turned out to be Nalas Jarren, one of the other two people they were looking for. With all the shields inside the Headquarters gone, he had left his cell in search for a way out.

That left them with two remaining objectives: meeting with Trenn's contact who presumably had secured the data they'd been after all along, and staying alive and free long enough for the _Scarab's_ return run through Bajor's atmosphere to pick them up.

***

 The _Scarab_

"They are safely down, raising shields again." Pavale said.

Kira immediately changed their course. After their rapid decline they would now revert to a steep climb. _I'm definitely getting lots of pilot practice for this thing_ , she thought. _Hopefully it will come handy later_. She looked over to the tactical station where one of the _Dagger's_ crewmembers had taken over tactical when Trenn and Bashir had left for Bajor's surface.

So far no Federation attack fighters had shown up, but it was only a matter of time, and the moment they left Bajor's atmosphere there'd be the planet's defence net to deal with, too. They would definitely have triggered enough alarms by now.

They would try to run as fast as possible, heading out towards Bajor's sun and around it. There in the sun's chromosphere they would once again slip under the _Dagger's_ cloak to wait and go in for a second tandem-run towards Bajor, this time to hopefully retrieve all their people.

"Incoming," Pavale said. "Two Federation attack fighters on starboard. They're launching torpedoes."

Pulling the _Scarab_ into a tight swerve, Kira managed to evade all but one. The _Scarab_ shook upon impact, but their shields held, and their ascent wasn't broken. They left the atmosphere behind, and accelerating they ran towards Bajor's sun.

"Aft torpedoes away", Trenn's replacement announced, only to add a couple of seconds later and now with a very satisfied smirk, "Two direct hits, one Fed ship down, the other has slowed considerably. Nothing to fear from _those_ anymore."

Kira pushed the _Scarab_ to her limits. The sun now grew rapidly in her headset's display and for once she was glad that there was no viewscreen on the bridge, even the rather small and filtered image was alarming enough.

They were rapidly closing in on the _Dagger's_ expected position. Naturally the _Dagger's_ activated cloak didn't allow them to ascertain this, and absolute communication silence was a given. She cut their speed abruptly, blindly trusting on Vexel and his crew to be precisely where they should be.

The _Scarab_ was gliding forward while Kira's hands rested on her station's controls. She waited for the slight flicker that would herald the sudden appearance of the Romulan Interceptor beside them. She held her breath and when it came she brought them to a sudden stop. Now within the cloak, the _Dagger_ hailed them.

"Nicely done, _Scarab,_ " Vexel said.

"Thanks, I'm transferring piloting controls to you, _Dagger_. Anything from our people yet?" Kira asked.

"No, but I'm sure they'll be in time. Just lean back while we take you along for our second approach."

Kira snorted, "No chairs, Vexel, remember? But we'll stand at ease, if you like."

***

Starfleet Headquarters, Bajor

The attack had been a surprise for Sloan. While the possibility that one of his own people might turn on him was never too far from the forefront of his mind, he wouldn't have suspected this one.

It had been the knife he kept in his sleeve that had saved him. Before he could walk over to retrieve it though, to pull it out of the soft flesh it was now embedded in, phaser fire just outside his office forced him to leave it were it was.

He turned to his door, training his own phaser on it to welcome any intruders. He'd have to get out of the building, obviously. He had no doubt he would make it.

***

"Where to now?" Bashir asked breathlessly. They had retreated into a big office room on the ground floor when loud yells had indicated that a large number of people were heading their way.

"It's best we split up," Trenn answered. "Something must have happened to Powell. He was supposed to get down to the holding cells once the attack started. You and Nalas find him. Go to the upper levels. Garak and I will stay here." Before Bashir could voice any protest, he added, "A Human in a Starfleet uniform and a Bajoran are far more inconspicuous than a group of four that includes a Cardassian _and_ a Romulan, wouldn't you say?"

Trenn had a point, he couldn't say much against it. But Bashir felt decidedly uneasy to leave these two behind. "Wouldn't it be safer to stay together?" he asked.

"Go." To his surprise and sudden dismay, it was Garak who had said it. "Don't dawdle," he added in that oddly hoarse whisper.

There certainly was no time for debate, and he and Nalas left for the upper floors. Turning to the Bajoran he asked again, "Where to?"

"Let's start with Sloan's office. Maybe he's there."

They hastened up the stairs. Here was less smoke. Two Starfleet officers came down towards them. "They are coming through the roof," one of them shouted. Bashir just nodded at them, and waving his phaser he ushered them down. They thought nothing strange of it, and passed them heading for the ground floor most likely. He didn't give their fate a second thought.

They heard a short burst of phaser fire from above, but when they reached the top level, the corridors on either side looked eerily empty. If indeed Bajoran attack forces were coming through the roof, where were they? Why was it so silent all of a sudden?

Nalas pointed down one aisle and they followed it until they rounded a corner - only to be abruptly surrounded by a group of silent and heavily armed Bajorans - they had found the attack forces. Weapons were trained at them, and it might have been sheer luck that no shot was fired before Nalas cried out, "Wait, don't shoot. I'm Nalas Jarren." Pointing at Bashir, he added, "He's with me."

Bashir tried his best to appear as inoffensive as possible, countering the hostile stares thrown at him with a calm expression. Fortunately Nalas' name seemed to do the trick as weapons went down. "Shouldn't you be down at the holding cells?" one of the Bajorans asked.

"We're looking for a Human, a Starfleet lieutenant. He's missing. He has data we need." Bashir answered.

"You're out of luck, then. There's no one left alive on this floor."

Sudden apprehension flooded through him. He looked over at Nalas who seemed equally stricken. Bashir shook his head, "We have to see for ourselves. Even if what you say is true, the data might still be here. We're looking for a Lieutenant Powell. He should have a data rod, an isolinear one. Will you help?"

The Bajorans exchanged glances within their group, then two of them nodded. "We'll search with you," one of them answered.

While the rest of the Bajorans headed down, the four of them split up, going through the corridors, checking each room, and searching each body they found. In the end it was Nalas who gave a shout of discovery. As Bashir rushed into the room, he saw him kneeling beside a young Human's body.

There were signs of a fight - an upturned chair, a bottle lying on the ground, its content still lazily oozing onto the beautiful carpet, some broken glass. Nalas was already in the process of searching the Human. He looked up as Bashir came near, and held something out to him.

When Bashir took it, he realized with some surprise that it wasn't the data rod he'd expected, but a sharp and slender knife. He gave Nalas a questioning look.

"Stuck in his chest. It's not Bajoran. It's Sloan's. I saw him play with it once. As to why Sloan might have killed him? I have no idea...Ha!" he interrupted himself. "Found it!" Triumphantly he held up a data rod.

Bashir smiled, and reaching into his pocket, he gave the signal to the _Scarab_ that they were ready to be picked up. Now the only thing they had to do was return to Garak and Trenn.

***

They were standing in front of each other in the office they'd retreated to, waiting for Bashir and Nalas to return. Garak was leaning heavily against the wall behind him. He didn't feel too well. He'd broken out in a cold sweat, and he was unsteady on his feet and grateful for the support the wall lent him.

At first Trenn had positioned himself at the door to the corridor they'd left slightly ajar. After a while he'd given up his look-out though. If he hadn't known better, Garak would have suspected him of being an empath or a telepath even. Garak had been contemplating killing Trenn for quite some time already without reaching a conclusive decision. It was maddening. On their way up he'd managed to grab a phaser from a dead security guard. Bashir had seen him taking it, but no one else. If he truly wanted to get rid of Trenn, now might be the best opportunity. There was no use in wasting resources, though, and there was no denying that Trenn was an asset for their group - a paranoid, annoying and ruthless asset, but an asset nonetheless.

As if he'd read not Garak's exact thoughts perhaps, but his indecisiveness Trenn suddenly said, "Tell me, how much of our plan did you tell that Vorta?"

Garak's anger flared instantly and it burned hot. "What do you think, Trenn? All of it, certainly," he replied, his hoarse voice practically dripping with sarcasm. _The fool is really asking for it. As if there aren't more important matters right now._ How tired he was of their game.

Trenn, however, seemed to be unwilling to let go, "Yes, why doesn't that surprise me? It certainly wouldn't be a first. I never understood why Tain let you get away with it the last time." He was about to say something else when a slight noise from the door caught his attention. Three Starfleet security guards suddenly came rushing into their room, and they were reacting fast, though Trenn was a hairbreadth's faster. While the first of them fell immediately, Trenn's shot having hit him square in the chest, the second and third managed to return his fire. A shot hit Trenn, causing him to fall, and to drop his weapon.

Standing with his back pressed to the wall and off to the side Garak hadn't been spotted so far, and he took both of them out. He turned and looked at Trenn lying on the ground. A grazing shot had hit him in the side, not life-threatening but definitely painful. He stared up at Garak, a look as pure as a mirror, showing everything clearly - the pain and shock and then - a dawning fear.

***

The _Scarab_

The incoming signal caused the tandem of _Dagger_ and _Scarab_ to spring into immediate action. Their flight towards Bajor would take less than three minutes. This time, however, the enemy's forces were on alert. They couldn't completely rule out that something, anything, a sensor shadow of a stray tachyon might be picked up, betraying their approach.

Once the _Scarab_ left the _Dagger's_ cloak, things would most definitely liven up. Their best hope lay in speed - to dive down, extract their people and then flee as fast as they could was the only feasible strategy.

"I hope they've made it," Kira muttered, her hands resting idly on her station's controls for the moment.

"We'll find out soon enough," Pavale answered. Kira wasn't sure if it was simple pragmatism or her tendency to play the uninterested observer that made her answer like that.

"Don't you ever worry?" she asked.

"Would it help?" Pavale asked back.

Kira sighed. "No, that doesn't stop _me,_ though. I just hope they're alright."

"One minute to the atmosphere," Pavale said, effectively cutting any time for worries short. "Incoming!" she shouted. "Four attack fighters on intercept course. Not sure if they've detected us."

"Weapons ready," Trenn's replacement announced.

Kira watched the approach of the attack fighters warily. While cloaked neither the _Dagger_ nor the _Scarab_ had any shields. If she decided to drop out of the _Dagger's_ cloak prematurely she'd be able to raise them, but she'd also divulge the _Dagger's_ own position leaving them vulnerable until they too raised their shields. She couldn't help it. It was a risk she had to take.

"Pavale?"

"Thirty seconds."

"Raise shields as soon as we slip out from under the cloak." Kira told her. She took back the _Scarab's_ navigational controls, and changing her angle, she brought them out of the _Dagger's_ shadow. She imagined Vexel's curses - almost believed she could hear them.

It took only seconds before the first phaser-shots by the attack fighters shook the _Scarab_. Their shields held though, and the _Dagger_ made her classification honour - she wasn't called an Interceptor for no reason. Running interference for the much smaller _Scarab_ she came around, dropping her cloak, raising her own shields, and firing a volley of torpedoes that struck three of the four attack fighters simultaneously.

The _Scarab_ hit Bajor's atmosphere, and Kira turned her attention firmly away from anything else but getting them down to the right location. They'd have to drop their shields once again to beam up their people. She only hoped they wouldn't come under fire at the same time.

***

Starfleet Headquarters, Bajor

Bashir rounded a last corner. He stopped when he saw the door of the office where they'd left Trenn and Garak wide open. He couldn't see any movement, but that needn't necessarily mean anything. Slowly and silently he moved forward, staying on the corridor's opposite side to see any hidden threat inside that room as early as possible, and minimizing the chance that someone might jump them from the inside. Nalas was close behind him, a comforting shadow. A dead security guard was lying just outside the door, and they hadn't yet drawn level with the door's entrance when they could see two other bodies clad in Starfleet uniforms just inside the room.

One more step and he could see Garak's back - the Cardassian was kneeling on the ground beside someone of whom Bashir was only able to see the boots and legs. "Garak," he said tentatively, throwing caution to the wind, only to see the Cardassian whirl, phaser aimed at him. "Whoa," he raised his hands in a placatory gesture, "Slow down."

Garak frowned, but lowered his weapon and wordlessly gestured them in. It took Bashir no more than a glance to see that it was Trenn at whose side Garak had been kneeling. The Romulan was obviously dead. Two phaser shots, one to the side and one squarely in the chest had hit him. Bashir looked at Garak, wanted to ask, but didn't.

Garak answered nonetheless, "He wasn't fast enough. After the first shot hit him, there really wasn't much I could do." And as if to emphasize his point he almost collapsed then. Only Bashir's and Nalas' quick reflexes kept him upright. Nalas slipped under Garak's arm, taking over most of his weight while Bashir checked his pulse. He seemed on the brink of losing consciousness.

"How many to beam up?" Kira's voice suddenly broke the relative silence, causing not only Bashir to flinch, but all three of them. It was, however, perfect timing and he was so relieved as he fumbled for the communicator, hastily pulling it out. "Three alive, one dead," he spoke into it, and a second later the _Scarab's_ transporter swept them up and away.


	10. Chapter 10

The _Dagger_

Garak hated sickbays with a passion, but this time when he'd been told that he'd spent five whole days here, he was simply grateful. He only dimly remembered that his head had hurt. In fact it had hurt so much, at some point he'd screamed himself hoarse, though he must have been under heavy pain medication. Someone had told him that, but who? Bashir? No, someone else. There had been a hand on his head, a smaller hand. Kira? Preposterous, so maybe his memory was playing tricks on him.

He must have fallen asleep again. He opened his eyes to slits only to see Kira (still preposterously) lounging in a chair beside his bed. She had a data pad in her hand and was reading. She must have caught his slight movements of waking, because she looked up from her pad and seeing his open eyes, she said, "Finally! I thought you'd never wake up. How do you feel? Strong enough to sit up?"

He wasn't completely sure, but he nodded anyway, and it was a pleasant if slightly painful surprise when he managed with only minimal help from Kira. She handed him a glass of water, and, as he drained it in long and soothing gulps, she told him, "The captain is on his way. He wants to talk with you, I believe you know about what and whom." He hadn't seen her signalling the captain and he wondered when she had done so, maybe when she'd put down her pad. He wondered about his lack of attention. "Hey," her soft call almost startled him. She was standing at the infirmary's door now, looking back at him. When had she gotten there?  "Behave yourself," she said, and after a pause she added, "I trust you'll lie if necessary. Make sure you're good enough at it." With that she vanished.

***

He hadn't been alone for more than a minute when the sickbay's doors slid open again and Captain Vexel walked in. Without a word he came up to the bed, and casually perched himself on it. Pulling one leg up he settled in a comfortable position that brought him unnervingly close to Garak, with mere inches between them.

_He wants to crowd me, intimidate me - unfortunately he's succeeding._ Garak's mind changed into a higher gear, a higher state of alertness, and he could feel his pulse speed up. This conversation he had positively dreaded, even a long time before the cause for it had come to pass.

"Did you kill my son?" Vexel's voice was ice-cold, completely bare of any emotion. At that moment he looked much more like a Vulcan than a Romulan, and the thought did nothing to alleviate Garak's fears. A Romulan could be a formidable opponent, but of Vulcans he was far more wary. More than once he'd had to concede defeat when dealing with one of them.

"No," he croaked. His voice still sounded like coming right out of a gravel-pit. _Good, capitalize on it._ "We were ambushed by a group of security guards. Trenn was shot. I wasn't able to prevent it." He held himself absolutely still, his gaze fixed on Vexel's face, not a blink of his eyes out of place.

Vexel stared at him for an eternity or, at least, that's how it felt to Garak. His thoughts started to wander. Apart from the mutual derision between him and Trenn there'd always been a very strange asymmetry between them. Trenn had openly renounced his own father. Even since joining him on the _Dagger,_ he had kept a precisely defined distance to him, declaring his independence and declaring his disapproval for his renegade father even when he was forced to share his renegade's existence. Only a select few among the _Dagger's_ crew even new about their relation, with Garak being one of them.

On the other hand Garak, being a bastard, had never been openly acknowledged by _his_ father. The fact that everyone knew nonetheless, and that in the past they'd worked quite closely together, had never been enough for him to make the rejection feel less humiliating.

He'd never understood Trenn. To reject something so carelessly that others like Garak himself so very much craved for, seemed utterly foolish.

"Cardassia has fallen."

The sudden statement hit him like a physical blow. He simply continued to stare at Vexel, unable to do or say anything else.

"Cardassia Prime was taken yesterday. Neither the Romulan Star Empire nor the Klingons came to their aid. The Alliance lies in ruins," Vexel continued. He looked at Garak expectantly.

Garak, however, felt completely paralyzed. Even if he'd wanted to, he'd felt unable to utter a single word.

Vexel must have come to the same conclusion for he continued, "I'm afraid the Dominion has decided to take 'disciplinary action' as they call it. They've taken out a number of whole cities on your homeworld, turning them into rubble on the pretext of enforcing the submission of the rest of the population. The capital was among those. My condolences."

_Tain_. It was always a mistake to underestimate his father, but if the capital really had been destroyed, chances were indeed very high that Enabran would have died within it.

His instinctual reaction was white hot rage, but then a thought struck, as bitter as ash and as cold as a douse of ice-water that turned his feelings to utter resignation. _I've killed your son, and you're informing me of my father's likely death - poetic justice indeed. We all have our sacrifices to make._

He continued to stay silent until Vexel, again changed the subject. "Pavale is working on all the necessary repairs and refitting of the _Scarab_." At Garak's questioning look, he added, "It's the name Bashir gave your Jem'Hadar fighter." He rose. "You'll leave as soon as possible. Everything is prepared or is taken care of right now." That being said he left Garak alone once again.

_He knows,_ Garak thought. _I don't know how, but he knows and yet I am still alive. I wonder why?_

***

The _Dagger_

_The damn Cardassian,_ Bashir cursed silently. Where was Garak? He had heard that after almost a week in sickbay Garak had left it only two hours ago and Bashir had itched to follow him. He'd seen practically nothing of Garak in that week. On his check-ins Garak had often been asleep or others had been present that had prevented them from talking freely. It had been Pavale that had kept him so busy most of the time. At one point he had even suspected her of doing it out of sheer perverse delight in seeing him fret. Ever since Garak had pulled through the worst, it had seemed to him as if everyone was intent on keeping him away from the sickbay as much as possible. He didn't understand why. His questions to that effect had been swatted away as nonsense.

Today he had left the _Scarab_ as soon as Pavale permitted, and he had gone straight to Garak's quarters, assuming he would find him there. It seemed likely that the Cardassian would want time on his own, but his quarters had been empty. Now, after checking the mess, the bridge, and even the hangar deck where the _Scarab_ was going through her refitting, Bashir was frustrated and even slightly angry at the elusive Cardassian for having vanished so effectively.

Finally he decided to give up on his search. He made his way to his own small quarters, and was deep in thought, and more than a little tired when he palmed the door open. Stepping inside he was startled to see a form lying on his quarters' narrow bed. Then he realized who it was - Garak, of course.

The Cardassian slowly came to life. Pushing himself to a sitting position he yawned and mumbled, "Must have fallen asleep, that dreaded medication you injected me with, really hadn't meant to," he fell silent and gave Bashir a tired look.

He knew that Garak hadn't been given any medication in the last two days that could account for him falling asleep. For a second he was puzzled, then an idea formed in his mind. Obviously Garak had come here looking for him. Finding Bashir's quarters empty he had decided to wait and must have fallen asleep. _Quite endearing actually, and of course he'll rather bite his tongue off than admit to anything so closely resembling a weakness_. He sighed inwardly.

"Why don't you lie down again? I'm sure I can find some place else to sleep," he said, but Garak waved him off. Standing up, he replied, "No, Doctor, I really should return to my own quarters." He started to walk towards Bashir, who was still standing just inside the open door.

Bashir sighed. "Why do you have to be so stubborn, hmm? Oh well, I'll walk you there. Just to make certain you actually make it, and don't fall asleep leaning against a corridor wall." He smiled when Garak just huffed indignantly, but didn't protest any further.

It was a leisurely and mostly silent walk, and they arrived at Garak's quarters without incident. Once inside he watched the Cardassian move to his bed and sit down heavily. When Garak tried to lie down without even making an attempt to take his clothes or at least his shoes off, Bashir had enough.

"This really won't do. Here, let me," he said. Starting with the shoes he pulled both of them off. Garak tried to protest again.

"This isn't necessary, Doctor," but he sounded half-hearted and more than half-asleep. Bashir simply ignored him moving on to the Cardassian's clothes. For a second he hesitated as memories of their last time here in this room and this bed came to his mind. He shoved them away resolutely.

Finally he had Garak down to his underwear, no small feat considering that by then the man was mostly a dead weight. Pulling the bed's covers over him Julian barely restrained himself from tucking him in. He had to smile at the idea, though. _A kiss to the cheek and a lullaby and he'll_ never _forgive me,_ he thought.

Then another idea struck. He gave the sleeping form of the Cardassian a speculative look. _Equally dangerous most likely, but I wouldn't be able to sleep in my own quarters now either._

He stripped down to his own boxers, and crawled under the covers, doing his best not to rouse Garak while trying to wrap himself around his sleeping bed mate. His last conscious thoughts dealt with the strangeness of being in bed with Garak again. The first time had probably been the most disastrous sexual encounter he ever had. This time his bed mate was unconscious and he himself wasn't too far away from the same state.

In a very, _very_ strange way that could actually be judged as progress, he decided. _Third time might still be a charm_ , he thought and finally dozed off.

***

A very small part of Garak's mind suddenly became aware of having something warm and breathing, and most probably dangerous in his bed. Since the larger part of his mind was still mostly asleep, his hand instinctively searched for the weapon under his pillow. It wasn't there. Marginally more awake, his next move was to go for a throat to incapacitate his enemy as swiftly as possible.

It was only when Bashir's slightly gasping "Oh come on. This is really getting old," registered in his still foggy mind that he fully woke up. He found himself half astride the Human with his hands firmly closed around Bashir's throat. Bashir's own hands had gripped Garak's wrists preventing him from successfully strangling the doctor.

Garak loosened his grip. "I can't remember inviting you to my bed," he said angrily. Not so much because of the mere fact of finding Bashir in his bed so unexpectedly - regardless of any invitation - but because of the shock of waking up intent on taking out a possible threat that turned out to be an ally. "I could've killed you," he continued getting even angrier at the realization.

Bashir, however, didn't seem to understand the real peril he had been in. He even had the audacity to grin at him smugly. "I found the disruptor under the pillow." He jerked his head in the direction of the table where indeed Garak's weapon lay.

"And as to these." He tightened his grip on Garak's wrists, pulling them apart, forcing Garak to shift his position from the half crouch he had been in to a more upright position so he wouldn't lose his balance. Bashir's grin widened. He was obviously not in the slightest bit fazed by the fact that a bad-tempered Cardassian was straddling him, pinning him to the bed. "I'm stronger than I look. I could always stop you. That is, as long as you don't use those infernal cuffs of yours."

He gave another cocky grin and went on, "I take it you've slept well? You're definitely livelier this morning than you were yesterday. So, I think it's a fair bet that you've rested comfortably." He let go of Garak's wrists and instead brought his hands up to Garak's chest, splaying his hands wide, letting them wander down to Garak's waist.

Leave it to Bashir to change from a situation full of threat and conflict to a blatant sexual invitation within seconds. There was a pattern here and it was both amusing and gratifying. Nonetheless, Garak felt torn. The look Bashir was giving him made his pulse speed up. It made him want to delve in, to dive down and capture what was offered, but he was far too conscious of how fundamentally wrong things had gone the last time. He loathed being cautious, but if the alternative was another disaster perhaps caution was the wiser option. He also wasn't completely sure if he was already up to the physical side of this encounter. Granted he felt a whole lot better than the past days, and he had to admit that he'd really slept exceptionally well, although the fact that Bashir's presence in his bed hadn't woken him earlier was more than a little alarming.

"What do you want?" he asked, bringing his own hands up to his chest, catching Bashir's as they wandered upwards again, drawing tantalizing circles on his skin.

"You," Bashir answered coyly.

The simplicity made Garak sigh and suddenly he felt old.

"Yes, I get that, but the last time we tried wordless negotiations, things didn't turn out too well, wouldn't you say? So it might be sensible to discuss this first." Inwardly he cringed at his own words. He sounded far too stilted to his own ears, but strangely enough, Bashir's grin had widened while he spoke.

"Normally I'm not much into dirty talk, but this could be fun," Bashir said breathily, wriggling his hips suggestively.

At Garak's exasperated "Will you please take this seriously," Bashir finally seemed to get the point. Garak was relieved to see his look turn thoughtful. But then the Human's features changed once again to an expression of mirth when suddenly Bashir started to laugh - loudly and for quite some time - until Garak who had at first felt like a fool, unsure if he was laughed at or about, started to become angry again.

He was about to get up to leave Bashir to his jokes when the Human stopped abruptly.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it. I didn't mean to be cruel, but it's not me who has so adamantly refused to have a straight talk for so long. So, welcome in my shoes," Bashir said and there was laughter still dancing in his eyes.

The words did nothing to alleviate Garak's anger. He was still considering simply leaving, if only to prove a point, when Bashir suddenly sat up, forcing him to move back slightly. Bashir's arms went around his waist, keeping him in place, holding him fast. Bashir leaned in close and he felt the Human's breath ghost over his neck.

There was Bashir's soft voice, whispering into his ear, "You'd like to know what I want? Fine. I'll tell you. I thought you were dead, killed by that Vorta."

A clever tongue ghosted over one of his neckridges, causing him to shiver.

"How explicit would you like this?" And without waiting for an answer the voice continued, "I want to feel that you're alive, that I am alive. As to the how, consider myself pretty much open for anything. It's your game."

_Not much to go by_ , Garak thought. Yet Bashir's willingness to submit and to please was certainly thrilling. Taking him by the shoulders, Garak gently pushed him down again. Leaning over, he took a good look at Bashir. He had absolutely no idea what Humans in general, and this one in particular, might judge as appropriate behaviour in bed. The last time they had tried this, it had seemed that after a while every move, every attempted caress had left them out of synch. It was as if they'd tried to learn each other's language by touch only to discover an invisible barrier between them that prevented any meaningful translation - any real understanding. It had been incredibly frustrating. _So, how do I start this time?_

He was brought back to the present when Bashir's fingers started to gently run over his chest again, tracing the scale patterns there. The soft caresses made him shiver again. Bashir's hands wandered to his shoulders, coming to rest there lightly.

"Stop worrying. There's really no need," Bashir said and smiled.

It felt like loosening a knot. Pushing all his reservations aside, Garak suddenly felt free enough to do just that. He stretched himself out on top of Bashir and just to start this on proper terms he went in for a long and languid kiss that soon developed a decidedly devouring quality on his part, and Bashir was responding readily enough.

It set the tone for everything that followed. He let himself go, losing himself in the moment. He took possession and his mate let himself be taken. For a while nothing else mattered - words and thoughts being replaced by touch and taste, smell and movement.

***

Afterwards there were laboured breaths and a sated peacefulness that was almost equally surprising as the disastrous outcome of their first time had been.

Letting Bashir's legs slip from his shoulders, Garak allowed his mate to settle on his back more comfortably. Garak felt his cock slip out of Bashir's ass and the sharp pang of regret that accompanied it was unexpected, too. He wanted to stay inside, to bury himself as deep as possible and to stay like that forever. It was an impossible wish, but, oh, so very alluring. He briefly closed his eyes and swallowed forcibly, getting rid of the silly lump that had suddenly formed at the back of his throat. Unbidden thoughts of his occupied homeworld and of his father's uncertain fate flooded his mind. He couldn't explain where they had come from or why they appeared right now. He pushed them aside decisively. This wasn't the time.

He looked at his mate, focusing on the here and now. He tried to gauge the impression he'd made., After a while, he decided that the look Bashir gave him in return was one of slightly shocked delight. When Bashir smiled at him dazedly, he smiled back and he couldn't help but congratulate himself. _Obviously you haven't lost your touch._

Bashir also looked absolutely delicious - eyes wide open now, pupils dilated, a sheen of sweat on his flushed face, swollen lips that were bruised by kisses and bites and some further and rather attractive faint bite marks that decorated his neck.

Garak's study brought him back to his yearning of a minute ago. _Oh, just do it_ , he thought. Raising himself slightly up, he wordlessly pulled at Bashir's shoulders until his mate caught his intent and rolled over onto his stomach. Though he gave Garak a rather puzzled look, he still seemed willing to comply with his wishes. Garak felt greedy enough to take all he could get. Gently pushing Bashir's legs as wide apart as he could without pushing them over the bed's sides, he guided his cock inside Bashir's ass again, eliciting a startled groan from him.

"Sore?" Garak asked.

Bashir turned his head to the side, resting it on his folded hands and only gave an affirmative sigh.

"Good," Garak murmured, and covering the slender body beneath him, he managed to push in deeper, and just a little bit deeper still. Bashir writhed slightly as if searching for a more comfortable position or maybe wanting to allow for better penetration.

"Relax," Garak murmured. He brought his full weight to bear, relaxing himself, and effectively trapping Bashir beneath him. Closing his eyes, he began to leisurely lave the Human's nape and jaw line with long strokes of his tongue, while he revelled in the feeling of being buried deep inside him once again. It was an atavistic behaviour he normally wouldn't allow himself - a faint echo of his ancestry, but right now he felt he needed it - its soothing effect on his mind and body. Absentmindedly, he noticed that it seemed to affect Bashir in the same way.

"I think I could stay like this for a very long time," Garak whispered against his mate's ear who chuckled in response and whose body relaxed even further at those words.

For a while they lay just like that, as closely joined as was physically possible. Garak simply lost himself in the feelings of warmth and protection as well as the sense of protectiveness it triggered within his mind. He had no idea how much time passed, not that much he guessed, when Bashir got restless again.

He wriggled, and raising his head he asked, "You're not ready for another round, are you?" Garak thought he could hear the slightest hint of unease in the doctor's voice, and he couldn't suppress the slight feelings of pride and amusement.

"While it's not a physical impossibility, I believe I'm rather spent at the moment," he said, but he simply had to try, even if it was only to get another reaction. He gave an experimental shove with his pelvis, and as he had hoped, his motion drew out another groan from Bashir.

"You're impossible."

"I thought I was a brute?" he asked, letting his tongue travel along Bashir's neck once more. Reaching the ear, he nibbled softly, and gave another slow and lazy shove.

This time Bashir's groan was more a squeal than anything else. "That, too." He pushed upwards, raising himself on his elbows. "Come on, let me up."

Garak hesitated. With a resigned sigh, he pulled back and out. Moving to the side, he watched as Bashir wiggled around on his back again. To Garak's surprise and delight he didn't try to leave though, but encircled Garak's waist and pulled until Garak once again moved on top of him.

"I thought you wanted to get up." he asked with a smile.

"Only to get better access," Bashir answered and claimed his mouth with a kiss.

***

The _Dagger_

Kira was sitting in the mess hall, trying to find the appetite to gulp down a less-than-edible lunch when she saw Garak and Bashir coming into the mess hall. Bashir gave her a friendly wave while Garak simply nodded as they wove their way between the tables to get to the food counter.

She hadn't seen the two of them since yesterday. That had been in sickbay and it had involved a Bashir who'd been very professionally fussy about a sleeping Garak. The circumstances hadn't allowed for much observation, but that was different now. They were such a strange couple - a Cardassian and a Human. Who would have thought _that_ combination possible. She wondered, not for the first time, if it really was just a case of attraction by opposites, and what exactly they both gained from their strange liaison.

As she watched the two of them, it became immediately clear to her that there must've been a definite change in their relationship. While on the Dispatch Station, Bashir had confided in her about some of his troubles with Garak. It hadn't been completely voluntary on his part as she had first teased him mercilessly, and when he had tried to evade answering, she had told him how suspicious their strange relationship seemed to her until he had finally opened up.

She'd felt slightly guilty for using such underhanded tactics, but to some extent, she _was_ suspicious. Apart from that she honestly wanted to understand. As the leader of their small team she _needed_ to understand.

Today the two of them were a perfect picture of co-conspirators. There was the way they always stayed close to one another, the way they regularly sought eye-contact with one another. The way Garak's hand encircled Bashir's elbow as he said something to the Human and the way Bashir leaned close as he replied.

_These two have fallen hard for each other_ , she thought. She sighed and no, it wasn't jealousy whatever Vexel might think, but there was a certain regret she'd admit freely to. _It's been a long time since there's been someone special in my life - too long perhaps._

Before her thoughts could completely drift into wallowing she saw Pavale entering the mess hall, acknowledging Kira's presence with a polite bow, before she joined the two men at the food counter.

_And there it is, my little rag-tag team, now minus one._ Briefly she thought of Trenn. His loss hurt. She'd never liked him as a person, but he had been a constant in her life for such a long time, his absence left an empty place in her mind.For a second she closed her eyes, bringing up his picture, saying a last farewell.

Opening them, she turned her attention back to the trio across the mess hall. The three exchanged a pleasant greeting and even from the distance Kira could have sworn she saw Pavale do a little double-take at the two men and in reaction a sly grin appeared on Pavale's face. Kira watched closely to see if there was any animosity on Pavale's part towards Garak. While his account of Trenn having been killed by Starfleet security was generally accepted - _and it might even be the truth_ , she thought - there was still the possibility that Pavale might take it against him that he hadn't prevented the death of one of her fellow Romulans.

To her relief she saw no hint of it in Pavale's behaviour towards Garak. _One less worry_ , she thought as the trio left the counter. They carried their trays of food over to her table.

"Kira," Garak said by way of greeting while Bashir just smiled and Pavale wordlessly sat down opposite from her. The two men followed and for some time they just ate silently, then picked up their harmless small-talk from before.

Kira, who had already finished her meal, thought long of what to say to them. She felt the need to both acknowledge what had happened the past weeks and at the same time open a path to a new beginning. Finally she went for the simplest observation of all though it wasn't by any means simple.

"Look at us," she said, and at their curious glances, she continued, "A Romulan, a Cardassian, a Human and a Bajoran, you can say what you like, but if this isn't a sign, I don't know what is."

"It might be a cosmic joke," Pavale threw in, but she smiled as she said it. The idea of having fate on their side obviously held a certain appeal even to her.

Garak and Bashir sat in silence for a moment. They seemed to be involved in a private and wordless conversation now that only involved looks. It was Bashir who spoke up at last.

"There's this Vulcan concept that seems to fit perfectly for us, 'Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations'." He fell silent, an insecure look appearing on his face.

Garak nodded slowly, "I've always found the concept a bit too over-enthusiastic in its eagerness to embrace everything, but I will say this at least - there's a lot to be said for building bridges. You can do so in the most unlikely of places sometimes," and the slight smile he gave Bashir, then offered it to them all, spoke volumes.

Suddenly it felt like perceptions were changing. What had been a rag-tag team mere minutes ago now felt like a tightly-knit circle and she wanted to keep this feeling, to keep weaving and strengthening the pattern between them. She considered where to begin and then fell back to her fail-safe. That had been Garak for a long time now and today she could acknowledge it. Turning to him, she said, "And Bajor and Cardassia are the best examples. We might have lost our homeworlds for now, but today I am more sure than I've ever been before - in the end we will win them back."

And just as he had answered her before when she had phrased these words not as a statement but as a question as they had stood on the bridge of the _Dagger_ while Terok Nor had burned, he echoed his own words and followed her lead, "Of course, we will win them back, Nerys."

 

END

TBC in 'Taking A Dive'


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